My Lincoln
by Flagg1991
Summary: Every once in a while, Rita Loud gets into "moods" where she hates her daughters...and loves her son. This time she takes it too far. Disturbing and graphic content. Yandere Rita, major character deaths. Cover by Raganoxer.
1. One of Her Moods

**This story is dedicated to AberrantScript, as something he said in a private message a few days ago inspired it. I forget the context, but he asked, perhaps rhetorically, what would make Rita fall in love with her son. My first thought was, she'd have to be crazy, so here we are, alone in the dark with yandere Rita.**

 **This is a very dark story. Reader discretion is advised.**

* * *

Every day for over a week, while her children were at school, Rita Loud came home for lunch and went methodically through their rooms, looking for evidence of incest.

It was inevitable, really, with five hormonal teenage girls and a handsome young man like Lincoln living under the same roof. She realized that when she found out she was carrying a boy instead of another girl. After she had him and her oldest daughters gathered excitedly around her bed, she scanned their glowing faces and thought _one day, one of you little sluts is going to try something with my Lincoln...and I'll punish you...severely_.

During her daily searches, she found incriminating evidence in every room. Why was Luan's sock under Luna's bed? She imagined it slipping off her daughter's foot in the heat of passion while she and her sister made love to each other...practicing what they would do to Lincoln. Why was Leni going through so much underwear? Was Lincoln pulling out and cumming into them? She lifted them to her nose and sniffed deeply, but could not detect the scent of sperm.

And the condoms in Lori's drawer, hidden under her shorts...who's using these on you, Lori? A vision of her oldest slipping into Lincoln's room in the middle of the night and riding him until he swelled and filled the condom flittered across her mind, and she gritted her teeth. She took a thumbtack from the wall and poked a hole in each one. If you want my Lincoln so bad, here you go.

On Friday, December 14, Rita came home for her inspection with a scowl on her face. Something had been on her mind for the past couple days: Lynn Jr. She was getting awfully chummy with Lincoln. Every evening for the past week and a half they played football in the backyard, throwing the ball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth for sometimes two hours at a time. Lincoln often played football with his sister because he was a kind and caring boy and none of his other siblings would play with Lynn, but he did it out of obligation. Over the past week and a half, however, he looked like he was actually _enjoying_ it. Rita watched through the patio door, her arms crossed and her lips pursed. Lynn Jr. was most likely doing sexual favors for him. _Hey, Linc, if you play ball with me I'll suck you off._

That made Rita _furious_. What kind of disgusting girl does that to her brother? She could imagine them under the back porch, Lincoln's pants around his ankles and Lynn's head bobbing up and down between his legs. It made her so angry she shook.

Today, she started in Lynn's room, looking under her bed, in her drawers, between the mattress and the box spring, in her closet, in the vent over her bed, along the baseboard. The only thing she found was a _Hustler_ magazine. She obviously read it for ideas. _Oooo, look at_ this _. If I do that it'll drive Lincoln_ wild. Rita trembled with rage as she clutched the magazine in her fist. She took it into the hall and threw it down the stairs. She and Lynn would have a _long_ talk about this when she got home.

Rita would punish her. Severely.

Next she went into Luna and Luan's room. She pulled out their drawers and searched through their dirty clothes hamper. There was a peculiar stain in the crotch of a pair of Luna's underwear. Who did this? Luan or Lincoln? Her vision blurred with anger and she shoved it back into the hamper. On her way out the door, she knocked Luan's dummy off her dresser. God only knows what the unfunny little whore did with it at night.

In Lori and Leni's room, she found more condoms, and poked holes in them. She checked Leni's underwear drawer and found it empty. The little cunt! She went over to the hamper, dumped it, and took every pair of Leni's panties she could find. Downstairs, she shoved them into a Hefty bag, tied it off, and took it out to the trash can. You can go pantyless, you little slut, not that you'll mind: Lincoln can have easier access that way. Back inside, she poured herself a glass of orange juice and drank it: The glass shook in her hand. How dare I have a son, right? How dare I have a boy I can call my own and love and cherish and adore? She _knew_ those little twits would try to take her Lincoln away from her. She hoped she was wrong, but every day it became more apparent. She saw the way they looked at him, their eyes hungry and their tongues flicking across their chops. The younger ones were too stupid to appreciate the awesome pleasure of sex, but one day they would go into heat like their sisters, and she would have six, seven, _eight_ of them to worry about.

Lincoln was too good for them... _far_ too good for them. They were lucky Lincoln even stooped to give them the time of day. She drew a deep, shuddery breath. She could forgive him for giving into them. He was a boy after all; he couldn't help it. It was those bimbos fault. Everything they did was meant to tempt him, from the night clothes they wore (Luan's thin white nightgown, Lori's shorts and tank top...no bra underneath, of course) to the things they said. _Hey, Linc, wanna play ball?_

Lynn was the worst, Rita decided. She was the most persistent. Lori was a close second because she was the oldest. Leni...well...Leni's mental disability prevented her from fully understanding what she was doing, but she gladly followed along behind the others like a rat behind its pied piper. Five. Five temptresses all vying for her son, _her_ Lincoln. She would not stand for it, she simply would not.

 _The hammer's going to drop_ very _soon,_ she thought as she rinsed out her glass and sat it in the drying rack, _and when it does, there will be nothing of you left_.

She left the house, climbed into the van, and drove back to work, struggling the whole way to put back on the happy mask she wore each day. By the time she parked, she had it on, but it was getting harder and harder each day...

* * *

"Hey, Linc!" Lynn cried, tumbling down the front stairs of Royal Woods Consolidated. Lincoln, his thumbs hooked through the straps of his backpack, stopped and waited for her. "How's it hanging?"

Lincoln shrugged. To be honest, he'd been better, but he'd also been worse. There was a winter dance on the 20th that he _really_ wanted to ask Ronnie Anne Santiago to, but at lunch, she specifically mentioned how lame it would be and how she'd rather shove rusty nails into her eyeballs than go. That disappointed him greatly. He really liked Ronnie Anne, and asking her to a dance, and actually dancing with her, would show her that, which he wanted to do rather than _tell_ her. He spent the rest of the afternoon thinking of ways to get her to go with him, and finally decided on this: He would tell her they were going to "crash" the dance...and maybe even spike the punch or something. He thought she'd like that idea.

"Short and shriveled?" Lynn asked.

Lincoln's brow furrowed. "What?"

Lynn blinked. "You know...it...? Never mind. The big game's tonight, you gonna be there?"

The Royal Woods Bobcats, Lynn's football team, were playing the Warrenton Raptors. Lincoln could think of a million things he'd rather do than sit on a cold bleacher in the middle of December and watch a rousing game of chase the ball for four quarters, but he would be there to support his sister.

"Of course," he said. "Freezing my butt off."

They were walking along the sidewalk now. The sky was the color of dirty dishwater and the barren trees flanking the way knocked together in the frigid wind.

"You know, we need a mascot. You'll be in a suit, nice and warm, jumping around..."

Lincoln barked laughter. There was no way in hell he was going to dress up like a giant football with googly eyes and dance like an idiot every time the home team made a touchdown. "Not gonna happen," he said.

"Aw, come on," Lynn said. "You don't wanna be part of a team?"

"No."

"You're a dweeb."

" _You're_ a doofus."

Lynn shot her arm out and hit Lincoln on the shoulder. He cried out as pain enveloped him.

"How did you know my favorite drink was _punch?"_

They both turned as Luan walked up. She was holding her books to her chest, her teeth chattering.

"You want a glass?" Lynn asked playfully.

"Uh...not right now. I just had some apple juice."

Together they crossed at an intersection guarded by a black woman in an orange and yellow vest.

"I'm _really_ looking forward to the game," Lynn said, jumping around and pretending to catch a football. Holding it under one arm, she shoved Lincoln out of the way as though he were an opposing player.

"Stop!"

"Oh, don't be a baby," she said, spiking the imaginary ball against the sidewalk.

"Be careful, Lynn," Luan said, "you might make him wet his diaper."

 _Oh, here we go again,_ Lincoln thought. _Another roast session._

"I have an extra baba in my gym bag in case he starts crying."

Luan patted him on the back. "Let me burp you, Linc."

Lincoln pulled away. "Knock it off, guys." If there was one thing his sisters all loved to do, it was roast him. They did it to each other too, sure, but ganging up on him was the only activity they all enjoyed, and they did it often. He usually let it roll off his back, but every now and then it got really old, and played on his nerves.

"Uh-oh," Lynn said, "here come the waterworks."

"You better grab that baba."

 _Screw this_. Lincoln started walking faster, hunching against the chilly wind.

"We better not let him walk by himself," Luan said. "He might get kidnapped by a child molester."

"Hey, little boy," Lynn said in a deep voice, "I like your white hair."

"Does the carpet match the drapes?"

"You so tight, boy."

Lincoln walked faster. When he looked over his shoulder, they were two blips in the distance. Lynn waved, and Lincoln flipped her off.

Five minutes later, he walked through the door and started to slip out of his backpack.

"Hi, honey!"

He jumped and uttered a cry. His mother was standing there with her hands on her ample hips, a smile on her face. "How was your day?"

"Good," he said, calming down. He hung his backpack on one of the hooks behind the door.

"Are you hungry? I can make you a snack if you like."

"No, thanks," Lincoln said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, thanks anyway."

He mounted the stairs, but did not feel his mother's lustful gaze boring into his back.

When Lynn and Luan came through the door, Rita whipped around, her expression hardening. Her daughters saw, and instinctively fell back a step. Every once in a while, their mother got...strange. That was the only word to describe it. Her temper would be short and she would mete out harsh punishments for the smallest infractions. Lori said she only got that way after Lincoln was born, and only then because of the post-partum depression, which apparently flared up from time to time.

"You, young lady," Rita said, glaring at Lynn, "have been giving me nothing but problems for weeks now."

Lynn blinked. Next to her, Luan was frozen.

"But, Mom," Lynn fumbled, her heart starting to race, "I haven't done any..."

"Your grades are slipping," Rita said sharply.

"My grades are fi..."

"And today I find pornography in your room?"

Lynn blinked. Shit. She found the _Hustler_? But how?

"Mom, I can..."

"I've already talked to your coaches. You are off all your sports teams for the rest of the year."

Lynn's heart shattered. Not her sports teams. Without sports, her life was meaningless. "Mom," she begged, tears coming to her eyes, "please, I..."

"Go to your room. Now." She stabbed a finger at the stairs.

Beginning to cry in earnest, Lynn ran up the stairs and disappeared.

Luan watched her mother warily, the way one might watch a coiled snake. Rita turned to her, and she cringed. "And you can go to your room too. It's the middle of winter and you're wearing a skirt. Who does that?"

Rita clucked her tongue disgustedly and walked away.

Luan sighed. It was going to be a _bad_ couple of days. She could feel it.


	2. House of Dread

In her room, Lynn slammed the door and flashed, punching it. She turned, consumed with fury, and swiped a trophy off of her dresser: It fell to the floor and broke. That made her even madder because she worked _hard_ for that trophy, so she kicked it: it skitted across the floor and smacked into her nightstand.

She was seething, panting like a wild animal. On her bed, Lucy watched her impassively, a book forgotten in her lap.

"I _hate_ that bitch!" Lynn roared. She looked around for something to vent her wrath on, and settled for her poster of Michael Jordan: She ripped it off the wall and tore it to shreds. When she was done, she dropped onto the edge of her bed, put her face in her hands, and wept.

Lucy looked down at her book and then back up at her sister. Lynn got angry a lot, but not like _this_. A blowout _this_ big meant something serious was going on. Lucy tried to decide whether she should ask what happened or keep her mouth closed. With Lynn, you never knew what kind of reaction you would get. She might open up...or she might yell at her like _she_ did something wrong. Lucy watched her sister's shoulders shake with the force of her sobs, and sighed. "What happened?"

"Mom..." Lynn sniffed. "She pulled me off all my sports teams."

Lucy blinked behind her bangs. "Why did she do that?"

"Because she's a cruel, sadistic bitch." Lynn threw herself onto the bed and buried her face in her pillow. Lucy watched her with a broken heart. Sports were Lynn's passion. Not playing them was to her what not writing poems or wearing black was to Lucy. Lucy didn't know much about how Lynn's teams worked, but she did know that Lynn had to maintain a certain GPA to stay on them. Lynn, as far as Lucy knew, was maintaining that GPA, so...why? She didn't understand.

Was Mom in one of her moods again?

It was well-known in the Loud house that Mom sometimes got a hair across her butt, as the saying went. Mom could be kind of a bitch when she was in one of her moods, but taking Lynn off all her sports teams for no reason? That seemed beyond the pale. There _must_ be more to it than Lynn was letting on.

Whatever it was, taking Lynn off all her teams _was_ harsh.

Lucy sighed again. She closed her book, sat it aside, and got up, crossing to her sister's bed. She sat down and laid her hand on her back. Lynn hitched under her touch. She was really looking forward to the game tonight, and Lucy felt awful. "Maybe we can talk to her at dinner," she offered, because she had to say _something_ : She didn't like seeing her big sister suffer.

"She won't listen," Lynn said muffedly into her pillow. "She's a fucking bitch."

"We can try."

Sometimes in life, that's all you can do. "It's worth a shot."

Lynn continued crying, and Lucy rubbed her back. An idea occurred to her. "Maybe if you did something nice for her...?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. An apology card?"

Lynn rolled partially over so that her tear-streaked face was exposed. "But I didn't _do_ anything."

"So...you just walked through the door and she said she was taking you off all your teams?"

"Pretty much," Lynn said.

Lucy pursed her lips. "There has to be a reason."

"Well...she said my grades are slipping...and she found something I shouldn't have had."

Lucy blinked. "What?"

Lynn went stiff under her hand. "Nothing. It's not like it was drugs or a gun or anything, and my grades are the same as they've always been. Better, actually, since Lisa's tutoring me."

Hm. "Well...apologize for whatever you had and work to get your grades better."

Lynn sighed. "That's easier said than done."

"Why?"

"Because I'm depressed." She buried her head back into her pillow.

* * *

Lynn Loud Sr. left work fifteen minutes earlier than usual Friday afternoon, and avoided the interstate because he knew traffic would be backed up. He stopped for gas at Flip's only because he had to, then went directly home, pulling into the driveway twenty minutes before they would have to leave for Lynn's game. He was proud of himself. By this point, he had it down to a science.

When he came through the front door, he shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the rack. Lori and Leni were sitting on the couch, watching TV. Lori glanced up at him. "Hey, Dad."

"Hey, sweetie," he said. He came into the living room and stopped when he smelled something odd.

Dinner cooking. Chicken...and rolls?

On nights that Lynn had a game, they usually grabbed something from Burger World or Donny's Pizza. Why was Rita cooking?

He found his wife standing at the stove and stirring a pot full of instant mashed potatoes. She glanced up when he came in. "Hey, honey." Her tone was flat, toneless.

"What's all this?" he asked, spreading his hands.

"Dinner," Rita replied.

Lynn was confused. "Why? We don't have time for this. We have to leave in less than twenty minutes."

"We're not going to Lynn's game," Rita said firmly. "I talked to her coaches and had her taken off of her teams."

" _What?"_

Rita looked at him, her eyes hard.

"Why?" Lynn demanded.

"Because her grades are bad and I found a pornographic magazine in her bedroom today."

Lynn gaped. "Her grades are fine. As for a dirty magazine..."

"She's off her teams, Lynn, and that's that." She slammed a lid down onto the potatoes and turned away.

Lynn sighed.

She was having one of her 'moods' again. Every couple months, she would become aggressive and hostile. She refused to see a doctor, but Lynn suspected that it had something to do with the post-partem depression she suffered after Lincoln was born. It was strange: Many mothers who suffer PPD experience negative feelings toward the baby...Rita experienced negative feelings toward their daughters. For nearly a month, she could barely stand to be in the same room with them and accused them of trying to "take Lincoln away" from her. She clung to her baby, and sometimes she would shut herself and Lincoln up in the bedroom and not come out for days. Over time, she got better, but every once in a while, she would lapse.

"You know how much sports means to her," Lynn said. It did little good to argue with her, but yanking Lynn off of her teams like this was too much.

"I don't care about sports," she said. "I care about her grades."

"Her grades are fine."

" _No they're not!"_ Rita shrieked. She bent at the waist, her eyes flashing. "Her grades are shit! _She's_ shit!"

"Rita!"

Moving with a fluidity born of madness, she grabbed the pot of potatoes from the stove and flung it at him: He ducked, and it hit the wall, splattering everywhere. _"Get out of my kitchen!"_

Lynn stood where he was. He would have obeyed had he been able to, but he was frozen, his muscles petrified in shock. He hadn't seen her this bad in eleven years.

"Go away," she said, her tone going flat once more. "I'm cooking dinner."

Swallowing, Lynn did as he was told. When he entered the living room, Leni and Lori were both looking at him strangely, their eyes questioning. He looked away and went up the stairs, feeling lost and not knowing what to do. He always felt this way during one of Rita's episodes, and he hated it. At the head of the stairs, he remembered his daughter. God, she must be broken up beyond belief right now.

He went to her door and knocked.

"Yeah?" Lucy called.

"It's Dad," he said, "can I come in?"

"Yeah!"

He opened the door and went in. Lynn was lying face down on her bed, Lucy was sitting next to her, her hand resting on her sister's back. Lynn Sr.'s heart twisted. Though his namesake was unmoving, he could sense her misery, and for a moment he was so angry with his wife that he could have hit her.

"Hey, honey," Lynn said, sitting next to Lucy and patting Lynn Jr. on the shoulder, "how are you?"

"Terrible," Lynn Jr. said. "Mom pulled me off all my teams."

"I know," Lynn Sr. said. The raw pain in her voice hurt his heart. "Your mother and I are going to have a long talk. You just need to understand that she's going through a rough time right now."

He hated what Rita's episodes did this to his family, and he hated having to explain to his daughters why their mother was being unreasonable. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to him or to them or even to Rita; it wasn't fair that she still suffered like this all these years later.

But like they say, life itself isn't fair. Families go through rough patches all the time; all it takes to get through them are love and dedication to one another.

"Just...be patient with her. She doesn't mean it."

* * *

At dinner that night, a black pall hung over the table. Lincoln felt it, and inferred from the wan, guarded faces and worried eyes of his older sisters that something was wrong. He glanced at his father, but his face was impassive. He looked at his mother, and she glanced up at him with a sunny smile. "How was your day, honey?"

"Uh, it was good," he said nervously.

"That's good. How did you do on your math test?"

"I...I don't think I did too good."

"Oh well," Mom said, shrugging one shoulder, "you'll never use most of what you learn in school anyway."

Dad and Lynn both shot daggers at her, but she wasn't paying attention. Lynn looked next at him, his brows knitted in an angry V, and he drew back. It was only then that it hit him: They were supposed to be at Lynn's game right now.

He opened his mouth to ask why they weren't, but closed it again, suddenly sure that bringing it up was a _bad_ idea.

Was Mom in one of her moods again?

Every three months or so, his mother would start acting strange. She was mean to his sisters but extra nice to him. He didn't understand it, and the one time he asked his father, he said it had something to do with post-partum depression. Lincoln had never heard that term before and looked it up: Sometimes after having a baby, a woman gets really sad and moody. It usually goes away after a while. Lilly was a year and a half old; post-partum depression shouldn't last that long. Come to think of it, she was having these episodes before Lilly was born. Hm.

After dinner, Lincoln helped Luna with the dishes. When they were alone in the kitchen, he asked, "Why didn't we go to Lynn's game?"

Luna sighed. "Because Mom pulled Lynn off all her teams."

 _"What?"_

She nodded, picking a plate out of the sink and looking down at it. "Yup."

"Why?"

"She says it's her grades but her grades are alright. She showed me her last report card. Hell, she's doing better than _I_ am."

Lincoln's brow furrowed. Why would Mom do that? Sports was Lynn's everything. Her grades were obviously good enough that her coaches weren't complaining, so why would Mom be so upset? Sure, she had her moods, but...

Lincoln suddenly felt very bad for Lynn; he understood now why she was upset at him. It wasn't him personally, she was just angry in general.

When the dishes were done, he started up the stairs, planning to talk to her, but Mom called out from the couch. "Lincoln, could you come here, please?"

Lincoln winced. When his mother was like this, she wanted to spend time with him. Which was great, because they rarely got to bond one-on-one. The downside was she sometimes kept him at her side all day, and if he tried to extract himself, she would get upset and cry and accuse him of not loving her.

Powerless to resist, he went over to the couch. His mother smiled at him and patted the cushion next to her. "Sit."

He sat, and she put her arm around his shoulder, drawing him close. "Do you want to watch a movie?" she asked, leaning her face into his. Her eyes were intense, unwavering. The smell of her perfume choked him.

"Actually, I was going to..." he stammered.

"What do you want to watch?" she asked, turning to the TV and pointing the remote at it.

"I don't..."

"Oooh, look, _The Notebook_ is on! That's my favorite movie." She looked at her son. "It's so romantic."

Lincoln's throat constricted and he was suddenly _very_ uncomfortable. She tightened her grip around him, and he fell into her. "I love spending time with you," she said dreamily as she ran her fingers through his hair; a shiver went down his spine...and not a _good_ kind of shiver.

"I...I love spending time with you too," he said, because what else could he say? It wasn't a lie, though this time around, he would rather be anywhere else.

Why? _It's just Mom._

Yeah, Mom in one of her moods.

She flicked his cowlick and giggled like a girl. "You're such a handsome young man. I bet the girls just _fawn_ over you."

He laughed nervously. "Not really."

"Well," she said, "girls are stupid sometimes. They don't know how to appreciate a gentleman like you...that takes a _woman_." Lincoln looked up; his mother was staring down at him with half-lidded eyes and a grin. Lincoln swallowed hard.

"Rita, can...?"

Lincoln looked up as his father came in from the kitchen; he tried his best to plead with his eyes. _Help me._

Dad stopped, his brow crinkling. "What's going on?"

"Lincoln and I are watching a movie," Mom said without turning. "Go away."

Dad cringed, then took a deep breath. "I need Lincoln's help."

"Too bad, get one of your daughters."

"Rita..."

Mom spun to face Dad, her arm tightening around Lincoln's neck. _"I said go away, Lynn!"_

She turned back to the TV with a sigh. "Your father's always trying to get between us, Lincoln," she said. She looked down at him and touched his cheek. "But I'm not going to let him. He has ten daughters he can bother, why does he have to go after _my_ son?"

Lincoln threw a glance over his shoulder. His father hung his head and went back into the kitchen then through the door connecting to the garage, leaving Lincoln all alone at the mercy of his mother.


	3. A Long Way Down

Saturday morning dawned gray and cold. Lynn Loud Sr. met it with a sigh. Next to him, his wife of eighteen years was curled up on her side, facing away from him, her back gently rising and falling. Last night, when she came to bed, she attacked him with kisses and soft touches. He didn't have it in him to fight back, so he allowed her to mount him and sheath him between her folds, her nightgown pushed up past her hips. She rocked back and forth, her breaths coming in hot gasps and her blonde bangs hanging limply over her eyes. He stared at the ceiling, hating himself for giving into her like he always did. After her actions that day, the last place he wanted her was on top of him. God help him, the second-to-last was in bed beside him.

It was hard to love her when she was like this, but she was his wife, the only woman he had ever loved, and nearly two decades ago he vowed to honor and cherish her no matter what...in sickness and in health. He could handle her at her worst, that wasn't the problem; it was the kids and how it affected them that worried him. When she was like this, he went out of his way to avoid angering or confronting her, because it would only make matters worse. Sometimes, that wasn't enough, though; she sought trouble and she found it.

Lynn hated her moods, and had urged her in the past to see a doctor. She always blew it off while promising that it wouldn't happen again, but it always did, and over the past year, it had been getting progressively worse. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was wrong. What if it _wasn't_ post-partum? What if it was something else? Something more...serious? He wasn't a doctor, so he could very easily be mistaken.

 _No,_ he thought; the prospect of his wife suffering from a severe mental illness was too terrible to contemplate.

Whatever it was, it was becoming insufferable. He couldn't decide which was worse: The cruelty with which she treated their daughters ( _your daughters_ , she had said yesterday), or the overbearing, almost obscene way she clung to Lincoln. He recalled the pleading in his son's eyes the previous afternoon as she held him hostage on the couch, and he sighed. He felt like a failure as both a man _and_ a father. He was allowing his wife's condition to hurt his children. What could he do, though? He couldn't _make_ her go to a doctor, and he doubted her condition was severe enough for involuntary committal. God, could he really do that though, pack his wife off to some godawful state run mental hospital where people talked to themselves and spun in circles? He tried to imagine her in one of those places, and his mind rebelled.

He hoped to God she was better today, because if she did anything out of the way, he wouldn't be able to sit by and let it happen, even if it meant a fight.

He _hated_ fighting with Rita. He loved her and wanted to share peace and harmony with her. Unfortunately even in the best of marriages, that's not always possible.

Drawing a deep breath, he swung his legs out from under the covers and sat up. The digital face of the alarm clock on the nightstand said it was 7:09. Usually he and Rita would sleep until nine on a Saturday; the kids were all old enough to feed themselves, except for Lilly, but Lori or Luna usually took care of her so they could sleep. Such considerate children. How could Rita...?

 _She doesn't mean it_ , he cautioned himself. _She's sick._

He ran trembling fingers through his thinning hair. A part of him wanted to crawl back under the covers and go back to sleep, where all of this would not matter, but he didn't think he could, so he got up, went into the master bath, and relieved himself. In the mirror over the sink, his eyes were red and dark bags hung beneath them. He brushed his teeth, shaved, then got into the shower, where he turned the water as hot as he could stand; some of his tension melted away and he allowed his mind to wander.

In the bedroom, Rita sat up and glanced over her shoulder. She could hear the shower running.

She reached between the mattress and the box spring and pulled out a wickedly sharp kitchen knife. She stared at her reflection in the gleaming blade as she turned it over in her hands. She kept it under the bed because one never knows when they might need something pointy and serrated, does one? Especially when one lives in a house full of _rats_ intent on keeping her and the love of her life apart. She briefly considered walking into the bathroom, raising the knife, yanking back the shower curtain, and stabbing Lynn all over his flabby body, but deep down she knew that that would bring the police, and the police would take Lincoln away from her. If she killed Lynn and his slut daughters, how long would she have with her precious son before someone missed them and sent the police? Surely the weekend, then Monday, and maybe even Tuesday, but before long, someone would get suspicious.

But if they kept pushing her...

Sighing, she shoved the knife back into its hiding spot and stretched out on her back. She was wearing a silk nightgown that clung lovingly to her voluptuous figure. She would be thirty-eight in three months, and she had taken great pains to preserve her body, not that the daughters Lynn kept pumping into her helped much. She had stretch marks on her thighs and stomach, and no amount of cream would rid her of them.

What would Lincoln think when he saw her naked body? She could imagine his eyes widening as she slipped out of the nightgown and let it fall to her feet. She saw him licking his lips like a hungry dog, and laughed, her hand unconsciously creeping down the swell of her stomach and dipping between her legs. Her middle finger sank into her hole, and she threw her head back against the pillow. She added her index finger and dug her heels into the bed as she rubbed her silky walls. Last night, as she approached her climax, she came perilously close to crying her son's name. Holding it in was as difficult – and painful – as holding in a sneeze. Soon...soon she would scream his name so loud the walls would crash down around them.

 _Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln, fuck mommy...fuck mommy..._

Her orgasm welled up quickly and crashed over her. She bit her bottom lip and grabbed a handful of the sheet as she rode it out, her hips bucking and her legs shaking. She giggled when she was done.

She didn't know how much longer she could wait.

She needed Lincoln inside of her so badly it ached; just sitting next to him on the couch yesterday, his body squished next to hers, made her so wet she could barely stand it. She finally let him go because if she didn't, she would mount him and make love to him right there. Not that Lynn had the balls to stop her. He might even enjoy watching...

* * *

Lincoln divided his attention between his plate and his mother; every time he tried to steal a glance at her, she caught him, because she stared at him unwaveringly, her lips arranged in a tiny Mona Lisa smile and her eyelids heavy. He couldn't say why, but the way she looked at him scared him...but also made his stomach flutter like it did when Ronnie Anne looked at him. He was thoroughly confused by the time breakfast was over. In his room, he pulled his shoes on and tied them. He checked his phone, and found he had a text from Ronnie Anne, which made his heart bounce. "We still on for the park?"

"Yes," he replied.

The previous afternoon, they made plans to hang out at the park. Lincoln intended to bring up his idea to crash the dance; he desperately hoped she went for it. The thought of dancing with Ronnie Anne, his hands on her hips and their eyes locked made him giddy with excitement. Maybe they could even kiss...

His phone buzzed, and he checked it. "Meet you there in a half hour."

"Okay," he texted with a smile.

Downstairs, he started for the door but his mother's voice stopped him. "Lincoln, honey, where are you going?"

"To the park," he said.

His mother's face fell. "Oh. I was hoping we could spend time together."

"We can later," he said quickly.

For a terrible moment he thought she was going to make him stay home, but she sighed. "Alright. Be home for lunch."

"Okay," he said with a smile, "thanks, Mom!"

When he was gone, Rita turned back to the TV, her chest aching. Why didn't he want to spend time with her? Why didn't he want to sit with her and let her stroke his cheek and maybe something else...?

Anger erupted in her. It was Lynn. He was trying to turn Lincoln against her.

She would _not_ allow that.

Not at all.

Upstairs, Leni touched her chin with her forefinger. "Where are all my underwear?" she asked. She did her laundry yesterday after school, and it wasn't until now, when she went to fold it, that she realized none of her underwear had made it in, which was strange because she _knew_ she put them all in the hamper. Hm. They didn't just walk away by themselves, but what could have happened to them?

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Lori sat on the toilet lid, her arms wrapped around her nauseous stomach and a positive pregnancy test sitting on the edge of the sink...

* * *

Lincoln Loud guided the front tire of his bike into the rack and looked around for Ronnie Anne. It was a cold, blustery day, but the park was still full of activity: A group of people flew kites, while a bunch of teenagers tossed a Frisbee back and forth. He didn't see her, so he whipped out his phone and checked for a text, but there were none. It was 10:01. He was ten minutes early. He should have left the house later, but waiting around when a girl is involved isn't something an eleven-year-old boy is keen to do.

He went to put his phone in his pocket but it buzzed in his hand and he checked it.

A text.

From his mother.

"I love you."

For some reason, cold dread dropped into his stomach like a chunk of ice. He texted that he loved her too.

Another. "Don't let anyone say different. You mean the world to me." She followed that with a heart emoji.

"Hey, lame-o."

He jerked, nearly dropping his phone. Ronnie Anne parked her bike next to his and took her helmet off, letting her black hair spill down her shoulders. She was wearing jeans and a purple hoodie. She slipped a scrunchie off of her wrist and drew her hair back into a ponytail.

"Hey," he said, glancing down at his phone. He had three unread texts from his mother. He started to put his phone away, but decided he better read them. She might be mad if he didn't.

 _You are the light of my life._

 _You make mommy feel funny things._

 _Have fun. I love you so much._

His jaw dropped.

"I'm starting to think the park wasn't a good idea," Ronnie Anne said, flipping her hood up. "It's cold as shit out here."

"It's not so bad," he stammered, putting his phone away.

"Your face is red," she said. "You look like you're gonna freeze to death."

He _was_ cold. "Eh. Tough guys don't worry about freezing to death."

Ronnie Anne chuckled. "Since when did _you_ become a tough guy?"

"I've _always_ been tough," he said.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed, and he most certainly did _not_ feel tough. He pulled it out.

His mother sent him another emoji. This one a smiley face with hearts for eyes. What the hell?

"Who you talking to?" Ronnie asked.

"Uh...my mom," he said, shoving his phone back into his pocket. It buzzed again.

"Wow," Ronnie Anne said, lifting an eyebrow, "can you breathe? 'Cuz that apron string looks _mighty_ tight."

A blush touched Lincoln's face. Did she think he was a mama's boy? He didn't want her to think that about him. "Nah, she's just...in a mood. We're arguing."

"Ah. Me and my mom argue sometimes." They were walking toward the playground now. A cold wind swept over them, pushing the empty swings back and forth. No kids were in sight. "She can be a real hardass sometimes."

"I like your mom," Lincoln said.

"Well, so do I, but that doesn't mean she doesn't get on my nerves sometimes." She glanced at him. "She's always on my back about my grades and keeping my room clean and always checking in on me. It gets annoying."

At the swings, she sat in one and he sat in the one next to it.

"That just means she cares about you," he said. "My mom...I don't know...she gets in these strange moods where she's really, like...smothering."

"Yeah?" Ronnie Anne asked. She was scuffing her feet on the mulch.

"Yeah. It gets really uncomfortable."

He thought back to the previous afternoon: For nearly two hours his mother hugged him close to her side. A part of him enjoyed it, but another part didn't. It felt strange, like he was doing something wrong...like _she_ was doing something wrong. He twisted back and forth on the swing as he sorted through his emotions.

"I guess that's what moms are for," Ronnie Anne said. She pushed herself back, then swung forward, her legs leaving the ground. "It's their job to do stuff like that, lame-o."

Lincoln shrugged. "Yeah. You're probably right."

"Of course I'm right," she said. She was pumping her legs and swinging back and forth. The metal frame shook like it was going to collapse. "I'm _always_ right. Now you wanna just sit there or do you wanna see who can go higher?"

Lincoln chuckled. "I bet I can." He backed up, then swung forward.

"I bet you can't," Ronnie Anne teased.

He pumped his legs on the upswing, then leaned slightly back on the downswing. Pretty soon they were both rocketing back and forth. The frame shook even harder, and Lincoln's stomach found its way into his throat. "We're gonna break it," he said.

"Eh. Someone'll fix it."

"I'm more worried about _it_ fixing _us_."

"If it starts to go, just jump."

Lincoln gulped. On the upswing, it was a _long_ way down.


	4. An Unfortunate Accident

Rita Loud came through the door connecting the garage to the kitchen, went to the sink, and turned on the faucet. She squirted dish soap into her hands, rubbed them together...and froze when she saw Lynn Jr. standing dejectedly in the backyard, her right foot propped on a soccer ball. Her head was hung and her shoulders were slumped. Rita's eyes squinted and she leaned forward. What's wrong, honey, sad because Lincoln isn't here to put his dick in your mouth?

Lynn sighed and kicked the ball: It went airborne and soared toward the stockade fence separating their yard from Mr. Grouse's. It hit and bounced back: Lynn dove to the side and hit it with her head.

Watching her daughter, Rita glowered. She didn't tell Lynn she couldn't play sports period, but look at her, flagrantly doing it right in front of her face. _Look at me, Mom. Fuck you. Lincoln's mine._

Shaking her head, Rita washed her hands, dried them on a dish towel, and turned the faucet off. She went to a drawer, pulled it out, and selected a steak knife with a black handle. Holding it flat against her outer thigh, she went to the back door, opened it, and stepped onto the patio. "Lynn?"

Lynn jerked and looked at her with big, fearful eyes, the ball tucked under her arm like the baby she probably hoped to have with her brother.

"Your father needs you out front."

"Okay," Lynn said. She dropped the ball and disappeared around the side of the house. When she was gone, Rita went to the ball, knelt, and lifted the knife, her teeth bared and her eyes hard. She brought it down, and it sank into the ball. She pulled it back and arched the knife down again. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. When it was flat and deflated, like her husband's penis, she stood, glared down at it, and went inside, where she dropped the knife into the sink. She went to her phone, which was sitting on the counter next to the fridge, and picked it up.

Lincoln hadn't texted her back.

She sighed. Where was he? What was he doing? It didn't occur to her until after he left that he was probably going to be with that Santiago girl. She struck Rita as the kind of little girl who liked doing dirty things with boys. An image flashed across her mind: Lincoln sitting on Ronnie Anne's bed, his head thrown back and his eyelids fluttering as Ronnie Anne stroked his dick. The image made Rita shake with rage. She went to her contacts, found Lincoln's number, and tapped it. She put the phone to her ear and waited five rings, six, seven. She was about to lose her temper when he finally answered. "Hey, Mom."

"I want you to come home. Lunch is almost ready."

"It's not even eleven..."

He sounded out of breath, like he was just thrusting into a little Hispanic slut.

"I want you home _now_ ," she said sharply.

Lincoln sighed. "Alright. Be there soon."

"I love you, honey."

"I love you too, Mom."

She hung up and sat her phone on the counter just as Lynn Sr. came into the kitchen. Ah, just the loser she wanted to see. She put on her biggest, sunniest smile. "Honey, can you run to the store for me? We're out of bread and milk."

Lynn's cocked his head. "We just bought some the other day."

"I know," Rita sighed sadly, "but Lola spilled the milk and I don't have enough bread for lunch. I thought I did."

"Alright," Lynn said, "I'll go now."

He started to turn, but she grabbed his arm. "I love you," she said, and kissed him. He stiffened against the brush of her lips, then kissed her back. "I love you too, honey."

As Lynn grabbed the keys and went into the garage, Rita leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, a satisfied smile touching her pink lips.

In the backyard, Lynn Jr. stood over her ball, her hands balled into fists and her teeth grinding together. Her mother did this. She sent Lynn to her father under false pretenses (he didn't need her, and looked confused when she told him Mom sent her), and then murdered her ball.

She glanced angrily over her shoulder. Her father's words from the night before came back to her. _Just...be patient with her. She doesn't mean it._

There was something wrong with her mother, she knew that.

But, with a shiver, she wondered: _What's next?_

* * *

In her room, Luna Loud watched as her mother knelt over Lynn's soccer ball and stabbed it three, four, five times. Her heart raced and her stomach twisted. When Luan spoke at her elbow, she jumped. "What's she doing?"

"Stabbing Lynn's ball."

They looked at each other, Luan's dark eyes pooling with concern. "W-Why?" she asked.

Luna swallowed. "I don't know," she said, and turned back to the window. Their mother stood over the deflated ball, her shoulders lifting and falling. She spun and went into the house. Luna knew Mom was mad at Lynn for something that didn't matter (she didn't know what, but Mom was in one of her moods, and if you so much as sneezed wrong she would snap at you), but...attacking her ball like that? Maybe there was an explanation somewhere somehow, but watching it, Luna felt dread deep in the pit of her stomach because it looked...well...it looked _crazy_.

Every couple months, Mom got into moods where she was a real bitch...but only to the girls. She _doted_ on Lincoln. It was actually kind of...kind of gross. It had been that way since Lincoln was born. Sometimes she was just extra cranky for a week, other times she was totally unreasonable. One time Luna found the neck of her guitar broken and lying on her bed; Mom never even complained about the noise.

Come to think of it, that was the day she played a bunch of her material for Lincoln, him sitting on her bed and her standing. Three times Mom came in, looking annoyed. "I'm sure Lincoln has things to do, Luna. You can't keep him hostage all day."

Each time Lincoln said he was enjoying himself.

Luna wondered if her mother did it out of jealousy.

"Should we tell Dad?" Luan asked.

Luna sat heavily on the edge of her bed and ran her fingers through her short, brown hair. "Man, I don't know." What could Dad do? Start a fight with her? When she was like this, fighting with her was useless. Over the years they had many roof-raisers that always ended with Mom mad and everyone miserable because the tension was so thick it was suffocating.

"It'll just make things worse," Luan said as she sat on her bed.

"Probably," Luna sighed. The best thing to do was ride it out. In a couple days to a week, Mom would be back to her old self and life would go on as it always had. Until the next time, of course, then they would do the whole song and dance over again.

"Don't tell Lynn," Luna said.

"I won't."

In her room, Lori held her phone in her hand. On the screen was a picture of the pregnancy test and the words: "I'm pregnant."

In her eight month relationship with Bobby, Lori had sent him _literally_ a million texts, and never had one been as hard to send as this one. Telling him somehow made it real; if she didn't, maybe the life growing inside of her would wait.

Only it didn't work that way, and she knew that. Nature waited for no one.

 _How did this happen?_ she asked herself for the millionth time. She and Bobby were _always_ safe: He wore condoms and also pulled out more often than not.

God, what was she going to do? She didn't want to start having kids early like her mother. She wanted to go to college first, and build a career.

How would her parents react?

How would her _mother_ react? She couldn't tell them now. Her mother was in the middle of one of her PMS bitch fits; she would _literally_ rip her head off.

She drew a heavy sigh and hovered her finger over the SEND button.

She was more scared than she had ever been in her life.

She pressed it.

* * *

Lynn Loud Sr. backed into the street and pressed his foot on the gas. He thought back to Rita in the kitchen. Maybe she was snapping out of it. God, he hoped so. He wanted his beautiful, caring wife back; that hateful shrew who replaced her every three months could go to hell and stay.

At the end of the street, he came to a rolling stop and turned left at the stop sign. Houses with wide front lawns flanked the sidewalks. A group of teenagers made their way west, probably toward the park, while on the other side of the street an old man with a cane ambled in the direction Lynn was going. He was wearing a tan windbreaker and a blue baseball cap. Lynn craned his neck. Was it a veteran's cap? His grandfather had one of those: He served in the Navy during World War II and the Korean War. He was at Pearl Harbor the day it was attacked in 1941 and present during the Battle of Iwo Jima in 1945. When he was small, Lynn loved listening to him talk about the war.

Ahead, heavy cross traffic moved along Central Street. The light went from green to red and he pressed the brake pedal.

It went all the way to the floor and the van didn't stop.

Lynn's stomach lurched.

The brakes were out.

He panicked as he rolled into the intersection. He jerked the wheel to the left...

...and a pick-up truck slammed into him. Metal crunched. Glass shattered. Lynn cried out as the door crumbled in on him, then lost consciousness. His last thought before blacking out was this: _She cut my brake lines..._

* * *

Lincoln Loud arrived home fifteen minutes after leaving the park. He was bitterly disappointed that he didn't get to spend more time with Ronnie Anne, and he had the feeling she was kind of disappointed too; when he told her he had to go, she said, "Oh," and looked down at her shoes.

Why did his Mom have to be like this? Why did she have to be so weird sometimes?

Angry, he walked his bike into the garage and propped it against the wall under a massive pegboard laden with handtools. The van wasn't here, but that wasn't surprising. Lori was probably at the mall _again_. Where she did she get the money to always go to the mall anyway? She didn't have a job and all she ever did was text Bobby and eat. Lincoln was surprised she wasn't five hundred pounds by this point.

When he walked through the door into the kitchen, he found Leni drawing a glass of water at the sink. She turned to him, and a smile crossed her face. "Hi, Lincy!"

"Hi," he said. He was going to ask where Mom was, but she burst into the kitchen, her lips arranged in a smile.

"You're home!"

"Uh, yeah, I'm home."

"I missed you." She came into the kitchen, and before he could move or flee, she swept him into a hug and squeezed him so tight she nearly broke his spine. His face sank into her ample bosom, her smell filling his nostrils; he tried to pull away but she held him tighter, crushing him. "Did you have fun at the park?"

She released him, and he stumbled back, sucking air into his lungs. "I _was_ having fun," he said.

"That's nice," she smiled, putting her hand on his face. Behind her, Leni's brow crinkled with confusion. She took her glass and left, Lincoln silently begging her not to go.

"There's a movie on the Hallmark Channel I'm watching," Mom said, throwing her arm around his shoulder and all but dragging him into the living room, "I think you'll like it."

"What about lunch?" he asked defiantly. She said it was almost ready.

She waved her hand. "We just ate, Lincoln. You can have lunch later."

"But..."

She sat him on the couch and sidled next to him, putting her arm around his shoulder and taking his hand in hers. Okay, this was getting _reaaaally_ weird. He pulled his hand away and tried to stand, but she grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked down. "Lincoln, stop that."

"Mom, you're making me uncomfortable."

She audibly gasped, and when Lincoln looked at her, her eyes were filled with misery, and he instantly regretted saying that. "I'm sorry," he said quickly.

"I just want to spend time with you," she said in a wounded tone.

"I'm sorry," Lincoln said again, feeling terrible. "I just..." he reached out to her, but she pulled away, her eyes as cold as ice.

Turning to the TV, she said, "If you don't love me, you can go."

Lincoln's heart clutched. "No! I _do_ love you, I just..."

"It's fine, Lincoln," she said sharply and crossed her legs. "Go play with your sisters or something."

Cold horror filled his stomach. His mother got on his nerves when she was like this, but he didn't hate her, and the thought of her _thinking_ he did made him sick. "Please, Mom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"It _sounded_ like you meant it," she said, still staring straight ahead. She crossed her arms with a flourish, and Lincoln bowed his head, feeling utterly miserable. He should have known better than to say that. What kind of inconsiderate monster was he? This was his mother! Yeah, it was true, she _was_ making him uncomfortable, but she wasn't entirely herself. He _knew_ that, yet he said something hurtful.

Hot, stinging tears filled his eyes, and he drew a deep breath.

"You can go, Lincoln."

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking. He bowed his head and sniffed. He started to get up, but his mother laid her hand on his leg and he looked up. Her eyes, so recently hard, were soft now. "I'm really sorry, Mom."

She took a deep breath. "It's okay, Lincoln." She smiled weakly at him. "I know you didn't mean it." She opened her arms, and he hugged her, resting his head against her breast and listening to her heartbeat the way he did when he was little. It was a steady, calming sound; as it filled his ear, he thought that it wasn't so bad being his mother's pet every now and then, even if it _did_ kind of interfere with his life.

He snuggled close to her and she put his arm around him. "What are we watching?" he asked.

"It's called A Queen and her Maid, and it's about a man who's in love with the queen and her servant. It's _very_ romantic." She flicked his cowlick.

Fighting down his discomfort, Lincoln tried to lose himself in the movie, but his mother kept touching him: His hair, his face, his arm. At one point, she leaned over and slipped her hand down the front of his shirt; he jumped as her warm fingers brushed his bare chest. She laughed. "Calm down, honey." She rubbed him slowly, then gently raked her nails across his flesh. He was frozen, powerless as she found his nipple and grazed it with her middle finger. What was she doing? This wasn't right...

He stared straight ahead, a dark mixture of emotions swirling in his stomach. Mom leaned in and kissed him on the top of the head...then the side...then she kissed his earlobe; her breath was hot, and a shudder went through him. "I love you, Lincoln," she panted. She kissed his neck, her lips soft and moist.

Lincoln's heart pounded and his stomach clenched. He felt a stirring in his pants, and shame washed over him. He pulled away. "I-I have to use the bathroom," he said. He went to stand up, but his mother grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into her lap. "In a minute," she said, and kissed his cheek. He went stiff in her arms as she trailed kisses across his face to the corner of his mouth. He squeezed his eyes closed and willed it all to stop, for her to release him. Instead, he felt her tongue tracing his bottom lip. An involuntary cry escaped his lips, and he pulled away.

"Lincoln..."

"I-I-I have to go."

Before she could protest, he fled, and didn't notice Lynn on the stairs until he almost collided with her. She was sitting with her face pressed against two spindles, her eyes wide. Like a woman coming out of a daze, she turned to him. "Linc, are you...?"

He pushed past her, tears welling in his eyes, and pounded up the rest of the steps, ducking into his room and slamming the door.

For a moment, Lynn sat where she was, her head spinning. She didn't know whether to continue watching her mother or go after her brother and try to comfort him: She saw everything, and she couldn't decide whether she was angry, disgusted, horrified, or scared. Lynn wasn't a mother, but she knew there were certain things mothers didn't do with their sons: What her mother was doing with Lincoln was one of those things.

Her stomach quivered and she felt like she was going to be sick. She got up and hurried up the stairs, flying into her room and slamming the door. She needed time to process what she had seen, and decide what she would do about it.

In the living room, Rita drew a heavy breath and crossed her legs. She was so wet that she had leaked through the crotch of her pants. Heat radiated from between her legs, and her erect nipples poked painfully against the fabric of her bra. Lincoln had _no_ idea what he did to her. Oh, but he would. Tonight she would show him: She would take off her clothes for him and let him touch her there...let him feel the burning love that leaked endlessly from her...and let him fill her with his own.

She crossed her legs and took a deep, shuddery breath. Did she have time to do it now? She could go into his room, lock his door, and mount him; it wouldn't take her long to cum.

As if in answer, her phone rang. Damn it, Lynn; even in death you're a fucking cockblock. She picked it up. "Hello?"

"Rita Loud?" an official sounding voice asked.

"Yes?" She tried to imbue the question with just a touch of concern.

"This Dr. David Blake at Royal Woods General. Your husband, Lynn, was involved in an accident."

Rita fought to keep the smile out of her voice. "Oh, my God. Is it serious?"

"I would rather discuss this in person. How soon can you be here?"

"I'll need to get a taxi...half an hour?"

"Alright."

When Rita hung up, she grinned. Before leaving, she would have to gather the children and tell them.

Something she would enjoy.

* * *

 **The "movie" A Queen and Her Maid is a reference to an AberrantScript story.**


	5. Bad News

**This is the last chapter before bad things** _ **really**_ **start to happen, so enjoy the calm while you can.**

* * *

Lynn Loud sat in the big armchair facing the TV, her knees drawn to her chest. She felt very small and fragile, a condition that was alien to her. The rest of her siblings sat on the couch or on the floor in front of it. Their faces were wan, shell-shocked. Luan's eyes were red and Luna's arms were crossed over her chest as though she were cold. Lola and Lana clutched each other.

The only sibling not present was Lincoln; he was still in his room and refused to come down. Lynn couldn't say she blamed him...not after what happened with their mother.

Over the years, when their mother...went crazy or what the hell ever it was...Lynn envied Lincoln, because Mom always treated him so well while she treated the rest of them not-so-well. In fact...sometimes she was really jealous. But now she realized something: Mom's moods affected him just as much, but in a different way. She sat on the stairs for a good twenty minutes, she saw Lincoln tell her that she was making him uncomfortable (she was making Lynn uncomfortable too), saw the way she acted about it, saw her touching and kissing him the way a girlfriend would touch and kiss her boyfriend. Remembering it now, she shuddered. Poor Lincoln! Jesus, how long had she been doing this to him? _What_ was she doing to him?

Lynn's stomach turned as it occurred to her that what she saw might be only the tip of the iceberg.

She had to say something.

But not now. Dad was in the hospital, everyone was upset...it just wasn't the time. She thought of her father, presently in surgery, and she felt like crying, but she couldn't, because she had to be strong. Her sisters needed her.

Lincoln needed her.

Right now, he needed her more than anyone.

She slipped out of the chair and stood on shaky legs. Upstairs, she knocked on Lincoln's door and pressed her ear against it. "Linc?" she asked.

For a moment he didn't reply. She lifted her had to knock again, but he called out, "Yeah?"

"Hey," she said, "can I come in?"

There was a long, pregnant pause. Lincoln knew she saw what their mother did to him, and Lynn suspected that he was ashamed. "Please, Linc?"

"Okay," he said with a sigh, and Lynn opened the door. He was sitting up and leaning against the headboard, his legs splayed out in front of him. Bun-Bun, his stuffed rabbit, was close at hand, as if he had been cuddling it for comfort. That image gutted Lynn.

"Hey," she said, and sank onto the edge of the bed. He drew his legs up to his chest, assuming much the same posture as her when she was in the living room. "How-How're you doing?"

He shrugged one shoulder. He didn't meet her eye as he said, "Worried. About Dad."

"Me too. He's going to be okay, though."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

The truth was, she didn't. She didn't know if he was going to be okay or if he was going to die. It could be either...or it could be a horrible third option: Dad in a wheelchair, Dad a quadriplegic, dead from the neck down and trapped forever in bed, Dad braindead and drooling down his chin. Her stomach twisted at each possibility. Lincoln didn't need to think of any of that stuff though.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and stared straight ahead. "I wish I was as sure as you are."

"Hey," she said, smiling weakly and reaching out to rest her hand on his. He went rigid and pulled away. Lynn took her hand back and sat it in her lap. "He's going to be fine. He's Dad."

Lincoln shrugged one shoulder. "I guess," he muttered.

Lynn turned away and looked down at her hands. They were twisting nervously. Her throat was suddenly dry and her stomach hurt. She told herself not to bring it up, to wait, but she was afraid to, because if she did, she might find a way to rationalize what she saw. Give it a couple hours, and she might convince herself it wasn't as bad as she remembered it. "What, uh...what happened in the living room? With Mom?"

She was looking directly at him, and saw the way he tensed. "Nothing," he said quickly.

"It didn't look like nothing, Lincoln. It looked..."

"It was nothing," he said with more force. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Linc..."

" _I don't want to talk about it!"_

Lynn recoiled. "Alright, alright, sorry," she said. She got up and went to the door, but stopped and looked over her shoulder. He was rocking back and forth, and her heart broke. "If you do...come to me, okay?"

She turned and left, feeling like a little girl lost in the dark.

* * *

Rita Loud sat in a chair in the waiting room, a six month old copy of _People_ open on her lap and her phone in her hands. She had been here two short hours, and Lori, Luna, and Luan were blowing up her phone asking about their father. _Oh, how's daddy? How's precious daddy? He's the next best thing to Lincoln...we let him molest us every night..._ skanks. She ignored them at first, but after Lori's fourth text, she snapped and said, _It's not looking good...thirty percent chance he'll survive_. She smiled as she hit the SEND button. It was a lie, of course, she didn't know _how_ Lynn was. She regretted only that she wasn't there to see the look on Lori's face; hopefully she told the rest and they _all_ cried.

Except for Lincoln.

She didn't want _him_ to cry.

But if he did, oh well. She would make it up to him. She would start by stripping him and taking him in her mouth, stroking his throbbing penis with her lips and running the tip of her tongue up the underside. Then she would mount him and rock her hips until he shot his hot, sticky load deep into her, her muscles contracting around him to squeeze out every...last...drop. A pleasurable shiver went through her. She was starting to get wet again. Hurry up and die, Lynn, so I can go home.

It was a shame she had to sacrifice the van, not that she particularly cared for it. She needed to do it in a way that someone else could take the blame if need be...someone who liked sucking her little brother off under the back porch...she was awfully upset that her mother took her off her sports teams...upset enough to kill.

What was the cheapest funeral home in Royal Woods? There were three that she knew of; she didn't know which was the least expensive. She would have to look into that. She didn't want to spend _too_ much of the life insurance policy. She would be a single mother with eleven children, after all. Ten if Lynn went to jail. Rita giggled at the thought of her daughter spending the rest of her life behind bars. Where's your precious sports _now,_ you little bitch? Should have stayed away from Lincoln.

She wondered if Lynn was with him now. Was she really that stupid? Or was she just that defiant? _Look at me, Mom, Lincoln's dick is inside of me!_ What would she come home to? Her son naked and surrounded by his leering whore sisters? Oooooh, she would kill them all...take a knife from the kitchen and carve them up, starting with their tiny breasts and then moving down to the disgusting things between their legs. She'd never gutted a person before. Could you stab them in the chest then yank the knife down through their stomach, leaving a gaping slash for their guts to spill from? She didn't see why not. Isn't that what Jack the Ripper did? She imagined it would take a lot of strength to do; even if she managed to pull it off, it would still be a hack job. Then again, that was okay, because it would probably hurt more that way.

And she wanted it to hurt. She had to send a clear message to those little sluts: Lincoln is _mine_. You can fuck each other and your father and whoever else you want, but if you touch Lincoln, you'll be sorry.

She was awakened from her thoughts when the big double doors just past the waiting room opened and a man in blood-stained green scrubs came out. He was wearing a cap, eyeglasses, and a white mask, which he now removed. He was about sixty with dark, leathery skin and flat ape-like lips. He saw her and came over. "Mrs. Loud?"

"Yes, that's me," she replied, standing. She hoped she didn't sound as excited as she felt. Is he dead? Did he bleed out on the operating table? Did his heart stop and did he pass away, doc? Tell me he's gone.

"I'm Doctor Blake," he said, and took her proffered hand, giving it one quick pump and then releasing it.

"How is he?" Rita asked, mustering a few tears, "how's my husband?"

Dr. Blake sighed. "He made it through the operation. He's in the ICU right now. He suffered extensive trauma to the head and face. There was swelling of the brain and bleeding. We stopped the bleeding but the swelling is still present...to a lesser degree. At this point, we just don't know."

Rita listened absently as Dr. Blake explained Lynn's complications and prognosis. The chances of him coming out of this "without significant brain damage" were small. At the very least he would be retarded.

That made Rita furious. She didn't want him retarded, she wanted him dead. He would be out of the way and she could have Lincoln, but he would still be a burden...a useless eater...a drain. The Nazis used to kill people like that and they were right to do it, because how worthless is a braindead 'tard? Pretty goddamn worthless. Would the life insurance policy even pay out if he was still alive? Probably not.

Nice going, Lynn. Way to screw your family. He was probably hanging on, too, thinking somewhere in that scrambled brain of his that it was the right thing; little did he know the best thing he could do for them was let go _and fucking die._

As soon as it was appropriate, Rita pulled herself away. Blah-blah-blah I have to get home to my children blah-blah-blah.

"Of course," Dr. Blake nodded.

"Please...if there's any development...call me," Rita said.

"We will."

Outside, Rita waited for the taxi, her arms crossed against the biting December cold: Dusk was drawing on, and the sky was a frigid shade of red tinged with purple. She wondered if she could return Lynn's Christmas presents: He wouldn't be needing them.

That thought sent her off on a laughing fit. People passing by looked at her strangely, but she didn't care. Merry Christmas, Lynn, you rotten bastard.


	6. Don't Lie to Your Mother

**And so it begins...reader discretion is advised.**

* * *

All of the children gathered in the living room – even Lincoln – when Mom came home. He hugged himself and couldn't bring himself to look into anyone's eyes. Lynn felt so bad for him that she sat next to him and put her arm around his shoulder. He initially stiffened, but eventually relaxed when he realized she wasn't going to hurt him. Lynn was certain she caught her mother giving her a dirty look, but she couldn't be entirely sure, because when she looked up, Rita looked away.

"He's doing okay," Mom explained. She was sitting on the coffee table, Lilly in her lap. Lynn's mind flashed back to what she saw in the living room earlier that afternoon, and she got the sudden urge to snatch the baby away. "But they aren't sure how...how he's going to recover. He might have brain damage."

The horror of her words sank slowly into her children. Lincoln trembled, and Lynn drew him closer. _I'm here for you,_ she thought. Then, her eyes fell on her mother, and she added: _I won't let anything happen to you._

"Can we see him?" Leni asked. Her voice was very small and fragile.

"Not yet," Rita said. "He's still in the ICU. They wouldn't even let me see him. Hopefully they'll let us visit after a couple days..."

No one was much in the mood for dinner that evening, so when Mom got up, they all drifted to their own rooms. Lynn walked with Lincoln, her arm still around him. When they came to his door, they stopped.

"Do you...want me to hang out for a little while?" Lynn asked, loath to leave her brother alone.

Lincoln shook his head. "No. I-I want to be alone."

Lynn took a deep breath. A part of her wanted to shove him into the room, follow after, and shut the door behind them. They could play a video game or read one of his dumb comics or just sit in silence...as long as she could see him and know that he was safe from that psycho bitch.

Instead, she nodded. "Alright." She waited until he was in his room before going to hers, where she sat on her bed. Should she tell the others? Yeah, now wasn't the time, but was there _ever_ a time for something like this?

She didn't know. Could she be overreacting? What exactly did she see, anyway? Their mother kissing Lincoln? When she was in one of her moods, she doted on him. She went _waaaay_ overboard, but it's not like she was raping him or anything, right? She would _never_ do anything like that.

Lynn thought back to that afternoon, when she found her ball stabbed to death in the backyard. If she could do that...

But it was a ball! Just a ball!

Mom stabbing her ball for absolutely no reason was pretty bad (why? why'd she do it?), but there's a big difference between that and actually hurting someone.

She didn't know. She just didn't. She wished her father was here. She would take her suspicions to him and he would know what to do. She felt so alone in that moment that she could have cried.

For a long time, she divided her time between sitting and going to the door, where she would poke her head into the hall and glance at Lincoln's door. A crack of light shone underneath. At one point, she went to it and listened. She didn't hear anything, which she took to be a good sign. If...something was happening...there would be noise.

Lucy rolled over and went to sleep at 9:30. The sounds from Luna and Luan's room ceased just before 10. Usually Saturday nights ended late at the Loud house, but today, after what happened to Dad, no one had the heart (or energy) to stay up. Lynn herself was exhausted, drained by the emotions she had been feeling all day, but she was afraid to fall asleep. She had to stay awake...just in case. Nature is a hard thing to fight, though, and by 10:45, her eyelids were starting to droop and her mind started to get fuzzy. She slapped herself, splashed cold water from the bathroom sink into her face, and even did a couple dozen push-ups to get her blood pumping, but within minutes, the shadow of sleep would fall over her.

Coffee. That's what she needed.

Downstairs, the lights were on but the living room was empty. Lynn paused on the bottom step and looked around, seeing no one. She listened, but heard nothing. She took a deep breath and shook her head. She was paranoid. A light being left on was something that happened almost every day. Nothing sinister about it.

She crossed the carpet on socked feet and entered the kitchen, which was pooled with shadows. She snapped on the light and crossed to the pantry, where she opened the door and scanned the shelves. There was a jar of instant Folgers some...there it was, next to a family sized box of rice. She reached up, standing on her tippy-toes, and grabbed it. She shut the door and turned, her heart blasting in her throat when her mother grabbed her by the front of her shirt and slammed her against the door. The jar fell from Lynn's hands and shattered on the floor.

"You little fucking bitch," Mom growled, her eyes narrowed to predatory slits and her lips drawn back from her teeth in an ugly sneer. Lynn's tiny body froze up, any fight she may have had draining instantly away as stark terror speared her heart. "You think you can take him away from me? You think you can suck his dick and I'll just let it happen?"

Lynn swallowed, feeling like a mouse staring up into the hungry eyes of a hawk. "Wha-What?" She hated how small and frail her voice sounded; she hate how small and frail she _felt_.

Mom leaned in. "I know what you and Lincoln are doing..."

Lynn's eyes widened "Mom, no, I swear we're not..."

"Don't lie to your mother, you little slut!" She drew her hand back and slapped Lynn across the face: Lynn cried out as she fell to her knees, tears welling in her eyes. Before she could react or even think, her mother snatched a handful of her hair and dragged her back to her feet: She yelped at the pain.

Mom drew back her hand and hit Lynn again, and again, and again, each blow exploding painfully across Lynn's face. "Mom, stop, please!" she cried, tears running down her cheeks.

"You ugly, stupid, smelly bitch." Mom grunted with each slap. Lynn's face stung.

When she'd had enough, Mom shoved her down, and Lynn landed in a heap on the floor; she gave into her tears and sobbed, her small frame shaking. She was no longer tough or brave or strong; she was a frightened little girl quivering and hurt.

"This has gone on long enough," Mom said, crossing to a drawer and pulling it open. She brought out a knife. "I'm putting a stop to it."

Lynn looked up and saw her mother approaching through watery eyes, her heart clutching in fear. The vision was blurry, and it wasn't until her mother was almost on top of her that she saw the knife. She cried harder and tried to scoot across the floor, her feeble attempts to beg for her life coming out as a breathless blubber, but her mother brought her fist around in a deadly arch and smashed her in the side of the head: Scarlet pain filled her skull, and she toppled over.

"You're a dirty, disgusting little girl, Lynn," Mom said as she mounted her, caging her body between her knees. "And dirty, disgusting little girls die."

"Mama, please!" Lynn wept, putting her arms up defensively. "Please don't hurt me, please, please don't hurt me!"

"You should have thought about that before," Mom said.

"Please!"

Flashing, Mom brought her fist down on Lynn's face once, twice, three times: Stars exploded across Lynn's field of vision as she felt her nose shatter. The last blow knocked her nearly over the edge into unconsciousness, and violent panic filled her. She lifted one heavy arm, but her mother pushed it aside and pressed the tip of the knife against her heart.

"Please," Lynn wailed hysterically, "don't kill me, Mom! Don't kill me! Please, mommy! Stop! I don't want to die, please! Please!"

Rita flashed a vicious smile and jammed the knife into Lynn's chest; the little girl cried out as the blade pierced her heart.

The world started to go gray as cold swept over her. The last thing she saw before she died was the twisted visage of her mother, a gruesome parody of the face that once tucked her in, cleaned her cuts, and sang to her in her earliest memories.

* * *

When she was done, Rita calmly washed the knife and put it in the drying rack. She crossed to the pantry, stepping over her daughter's body, and got the broom and dust pan: She swept up the coffee powder and glass shards, then dumped them into the trash. Next, she picked Lynn up and carried her into the basement: Even as dead weight she was light.

Downstairs, Rita dropped the corpse in front of the boiler, long since disconnected and disused, and opened the door. She picked Lynn back up and tried to stuff her inside, but she wouldn't fit. Sighing angrily, she sat her daughter down and went off in search of a handsaw. She didn't find one, but she did find a sledgehammer.

She hefted it over Lynn's body and brought it down on the teen's right leg: She heard a satisfying crunch as bones broke. She did it again, this time to the left leg. She tossed the hammer aside, picked Lynn up, and pushed her in, her legs flopping limply. Done, she shut the door and latched it.

Back in the kitchen, she used a towel to clean up most of the blood, wringing it out in the sink a half dozen times, then mopped. When all evidence of the crime had been erased, she turned out the light and went upstairs, her steps light and buoyant. Having that horrible little cunt out of the way was liberating; she had not been this happy since the day Lincoln was born.

In her room, she stripped naked and shoved her bloodstained clothes into a trash bag, which she tied off and tossed in a corner. She padded to the bathroom on bare feet, snapped the light on, and started the shower. When the water was hot and steam filled the small space, she climbed in, the spray titillating her skin.

Rita washed slowly and methodically, starting with her hair and working her way down to her sex and beyond. She wanted to be fresh and clean for Lincoln. She paid special attention to the sensitive spot between her thighs, rubbing it lazily with her loofa and biting her bottom lip as the flames of desire kindled in her stomach. She braced one arm against the wall and thrusted her hips against the loofa until it was coated with her juice: The whole time she pretended it was Lincoln's face.

She washed between her legs again, then cut the water and got out. She toweled off, brushed her hair, and then painted her finger-and-toenails, sitting naked on the bed. It was so _roomy_ with Lynn gone. And since Lincoln was so small, there would still be a lot of space after she moved him in.

When her nails were dry, she got up, went to the closet, and opened it. At the very end of the rod, hidden behind a raincoat, was a sheer white nightie that she occasionally wore for Lynn. She slipped it on and looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Her full breasts and her Y-shaped sex were clearly visible. She briefly considered slipping on the matching bra and panties set, but decided against it: She was hot and it wouldn't take her long to get her son inside of her...who needs extra fabric?

She applied perfume and just a touch of lipstick. She smiled at herself in the mirror. She was _fine_. She checked the clock on the night stand. It was 1:15am. The house was silent. Ten children slept in peace, one slept in death.

It was time.

She took a deep breath.

It was finally time for her to go to her Lincoln and claim him. She was giddy, but also just a _touch_ nervous. She had wanted this for so long.

How long would she last? She could see herself cumming (and cumming hard) the moment he entered her. Women don't prematurely ejaculate (for lack of a better term) very often, but it happened. Once, after not getting any for over a month because she and Lynn were away at different colleges, she slept with a guy whose name she couldn't remember, and all it took was literally one thrust for her to tumble over the edge. That was the first time she cheated on Lynn, but it was not the last. Before they moved to Royal Woods, she fucked their mailman, and Lynn's best friend, and the next door neighbor, and Lynn's second cousin Bob...she let _him_ put it in her ass, something she _never_ let Lynn do, no matter how much he begged.

But she would let Lincoln do it.

She would even let him cum in her ass.

With another deep breath, she got up and went to her man.

 **Lynn has quickly become one of my favorite characters to write...so this chapter wasn't exactly easy. The next one, believe it or not, was even harder.**


	7. Shattered Innocence

**I need to say something upfront. It might "spoil" the story, but I think the majority of you saw this coming. Anyway, I don't often do this, but I think a trigger warning is in order: The following chapter contains full-on rape. And no, it's not sexy, and no, the character being raped does not enjoy it. If you don't think you can handle it, turn back now.**

* * *

Lori Loud came briefly awake in the dark of a Saturday night, her heart pounding and a scream ringing in her ears. She propped herself tiredly on one elbow and looked around the room, so disoriented that her head swayed side-to-side.

Did she hear something?

She honestly didn't know. It was a big house; someone could scream in the kitchen and you'd be hard pressed to hear it on the second floor if you were asleep behind a closed door.

In her room three doors down, Luan tossed in her sleep, her lips muttering. A wail echoed through the chambers of her dream, a high, terrified scream from afar. Her brow crinkled, and then, as she sank deeper, it smoothed out again.

* * *

Lincoln Loud was curled under the covers, Bun-Bun clutched protectively to his chest. The rabbit's soft, threadbare fur, matted from years of hugs, cuddles, tears, and snuggles such as this, made him feel safe and warm.

For as long as he could remember, Bun-Bun was his constant friend. No matter how angry his parents got at him, and no matter how long his sisters kept their backs turned and pretended he didn't exist because of some slight or mistake, Bun-Bun was there, always ready and willing to embrace him and dry his tears. When he was anxious or wracked with nerves, he would cuddle the rabbit, and slowly he would begin to calm. Tonight, after Lynn left and he was alone with his grief, he held Bun-Bun to his chest and wept into its furry head, giving voice to the pain over his father's accident...and the hurt confusion over what his mother did to him in the living room.

He tried to rationalize it away. She was just being overly lovey like she was when she was in one of her moods. That was all.

Had she not trailed the tip of her tongue over his bottom lip, he might have been able to believe that, but the simple fact was she did, and it felt so hideously unnatural that he shivered every time he thought about it. Something deep down told him that it was indeed unnatural, that it was disgusting and shameful and _more_ than enough reason to lie sleeplessly awake, which he did.

An old song Lincoln heard on the radio contained the line 'lonely is the night.' He never knew until now just how true that was: Cold winter moonlight streamed through the window, bathing the room in a ghostly glow. There was no sound, no stir of movement; he might have been alone in a nightmare where strange shapes loomed from the shadows and things that should have been familiar were grotesquely distorted. A part of him hoped he really was, because he would eventually wake up and everything would be back to normal. His dad would be okay and his mom wouldn't lick his lip and rub his nipple and pant hotly into his ear that she _loved_ him in a tone that indicated she meant a _different_ kind of love than he was used to. He didn't know if he believed in God or not, but he closed his eyes, clutched Bun-Bun close to his chest, and sent a silent prayer out into the ether, hoping that someone – or something – heard and took pity on him.

 _Please let me wake up tomorrow morning and let everything be normal. Please, please, please. I'll do anything...just please, please, please make everything right again._

He opened his eyes and listened. The world remained unchanged, the air stagnant and stinking of nervous sweat (or was that only his imagination?). Moonglow still washed the walls and the floor, shapes still loomed in nestled shadows, his heart still throbbed in his chest, and still, the only sound was his ragged breathing, he was still entirely alone in the world, save for Bun-Bun, whom he hugged.

When he heard a strangled cry, his heart blasted again his chest, and he snuggled deeper into the mattress. It sounded like it was coming from outside, and he remembered his sisters telling him about a ghost that walked in the woods at night when he was little; they said if you went outside you'd see it slipping through the trees, a glowing white figure with gaping black eyes and a wide mouth. It would disappear, then you would hear a blood-curdling scream, and turn to find it right behind you.

This _had_ to be a nightmare.

He suddenly found himself wishing Lynn was here. Though he didn't like to admit it even to himself, she always made him feel safe, because she was big and strong and brave and she never let things bother her. If she fell down, she got back up and brushed herself off. If something bad happened to her, she sucked it up and kept going. Yeah, she picked on him sometimes, and she could be _really_ annoying, but she was always there for him when he needed her, and right now, he thought maybe he needed her.

No, he had to be strong. He was eleven-years-old. Eleven-year-olds don't run crying to their big sisters. They deal with whatever's bothering them themselves.

He sighed and rolled over. Square bars of light made eerie and forlorn patterns on the wall. He swallowed, hugged Bun-Bun close, and squeezed his eyes closed. He tried to conjure happy images to lull him to sleep, but all that came to him were visions of his mother's eyes looking lustily into his as she licked his lip. There was a raw intensity in her eyes that terrified him, an animal _need_.

When he heard the hinges creak as his door was slowly opened, his heart slammed in his chest and cold horror filled his stomach. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and an electric shock went through his trembling body. He tried to roll over to face whatever was coming, but he was frozen, his muscles petrified under his clammy skin.

The door clicked closed, and soft, quick footsteps approached. He squeezed his eyes shut and bared his teeth as if in expectation of a blow. _Please be Lynn, please be Lynn..._

The smell of perfume settled over him.

It was a familiar scent.

His stomach turned.

She climbed into the bed and slipped under the covers; a warm touch fell upon his bare back, and he cringed.

"Hey, baby," Mom said. She leaned in and planted a wet, sensual kiss on the side of his face, her hair tickling his shoulder. His breathing quickened and he squeezed his eyes even harder. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep she would go away.

She rubbed his back, then her hand crept over the hump of his side, her fingertips dancing across his quivering stomach, his flesh tightening and goosebumps racing up and down his arms. _Please go away, please go away, please..._

"I've been waiting so long for this, Lincoln," she said huskily. She ran her hand up his chest and leaned in to kiss his cheek. She shifted, and he shrank as burning _heat_ pressed against his bottom, obscene wetness soaking through the fabric of his underwear. He swallowed hard, appalled by the faint stirring in his loins. She put her lips to his skin, and when she licked him, he let out a long _Ahhhh_. She giggled. "I knew you'd like it," she panted.

But he didn't.

He didn't like it at all.

Tears formed in his eyes but he squeezed them even tighter.

She ran her hand down his arm, pausing at his hand and threading her fingers through his. "I love you so much, Lincoln," she whispered. Her fingers crawled along his hip, down the swell of his pubic mound, and to the waistband of his underwear. His breath caught. "Stop," he whispered forcelessly.

She slid her hand into his underwear, and he jerked, unintentionally pressing close against her. She let out a long, shuddery sigh and tears began to spill down his face. "Please stop," he whispered.

Ignoring him, she took him in her hand. He was hard, and he didn't know why. She wrapped her fingers around and squeezed. Her hand was warm and soft. "Oh, Lincoln," she moaned into his ear, her breath hot. She stroked slowly up, then down. Lincoln shuddered and twitched. The tears were coming faster now, burning as they slid down his cheeks. She took another shuddering breath and ran her thumb over his tip.

Suddenly, she pulled her hand out, and he released a stale breath he hadn't realized he was holding. She shifted, and he heard the rustle as she pulled whatever she was wearing over her head. Lincoln drew his knees to his chest and hugged Bun-Bun as tight as he could, burying his face into the rabbit's head and letting it absorb his tears.

Why was she doing this to him? She was his mother. She wasn't supposed to hurt him like this.

No God answered. No _man_ answered.

But a woman did.

She hooked her thumbs into his underwear and pulled them down. "Unbend your legs, honey," she said, and he automatically obeyed. She pulled them over his ankles and threw them away. He was totally naked now, defenseless, powerless.

She laid a hand on his shoulder and applied force. He stiffened. "Roll over."

Crying silently, he did.

His mother's face was pale and twisted in the light of the moon, her lips drawn back over too sharp teeth, her dark eyes sparkling with malicious light. Lincoln couldn't help his eyes wandering down her chest to her bare breasts, each mound topped by a tiny dark patch. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, her hair falling across his face. Next she kissed the corner of his mouth, and he held Bun-Bun tighter, tighter, his breathing heavy and his heart pounding. Her lips met his, and her tongue darted out. He pressed his lips closed, but she pried them open, and her tongue filled his mouth, assaulting his. She threw one leg over him and mounted him like a horse. His erection rested against her leg. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think.

She pulled away and looked down at him, her eyes sparkling in the light of the moon. A devilish grin touched her lips. "You do funny things to me, Lincoln," she shifted, and he felt himself sliding between her lower lips. Her sex burned against his. He broke down then, giving voice to his tears, his chest hitching and his nose clogging. He held Bun-Bun tighter still. His mother didn't notice his pain...or didn't care.

"You're such a handsome young man," she said, lifting up and taking him in her hand.

He cried harder.

"So beautiful...so special...all _mine_."

With that, she sank onto him, and he cried out in misery as he slipped into her. She was slimy and repulsively hot and he shook as he wept. "Yes," she panted, rocking her hips back and forth, "God, Lincoln, yes." She looked down at him, her eyes opening and a sudden sneer crossing her lips. She reached out and grabbed Bun-Bun. He held onto it. "No!" he wailed.

She yanked, but he held on, the rabbit slipping through his hands until he had hold of only its arm. She pulled, and a loud, definite _rip_ filled the world. She threw Bun-Bun aside, and Lincoln looked at his hand: He was still holding its severed arm, white stuffing poking out of the hole.

He was alone now. Totally alone in the world.

Something broke in him. He released the arm and lay back against his pillow as his mother satiated her dark lust; his eyes were wide open, staring, tears coursing down his face. He was vaguely aware of her grabbing his hands at one point and pressing them against her breasts. He didn't resist. He didn't have it in him to resist anymore.

His mother's speed increased. She clutched handfuls of the sheets and bent her head, her breathing heavy. Lincoln wasn't aware of his shameful orgasm rising within him, wasn't aware he was in the throes of it. He gazed up at a moonbeam stretching across the ceiling and tried to forget that anything else existed.

On top of him, his mother cried out as he swelled within her. She was perched on the edge of a cliff like a boulder in one of those old Wile E. Coyote cartoons. When Lincoln shot his load and it splattered the opening of her womb, she fell over the side, grinding to a halt and shaking with the power of her orgasm, throaty cries strangled as they passed through clenched teeth.

When she was spent, she rolled off of her son and took him into her arms. She did not notice how limp he was, or the broken look in his eyes. Still panting, she buried her face in the crook of his neck and lazily rubbed his stomach, finding and smearing a wad of his essence across his skin. Her thighs were sticky, and when she moved, she could feel him spilling out of her. She lifted her hips to try and keep him inside, the warm, sloshing sensation too good to let drain away. "You're the best I've ever had," she said into his ear, and laughed. The smell of his sweat and the musky odor of their mingled love was all around, and she found herself becoming aroused again.

"Here," she said, taking Lincoln's hand in hers and guiding it, "touch mommy between her legs."

His hand lay limply on her trembling womanhood. "Touch me!" she growled.

Lincoln's hand began to wiggle unenthusiastically. She threw her arms around his neck and sucked his earlobe. "Yes," she moaned. "Faster..."

He increased his speed, and she opened her mouth in a silent scream as the pressure began to build in her stomach. God, she was close. Already. Already close. Her legs already trembling. Her body already cumming.

She let out a long gasp as it hit her and she spasmed.

For a long time afterward, she held her son in her arms, her lips pressed against his ear. Her heart thumped crazily and her chest heaved. She fought to catch her breath but couldn't. She swallowed. Her throat was dry and tacky. "I love the way you fuck me, Lincoln," she said, "I love the way it feels when you cum inside me."

Lincoln didn't reply.

He didn't move.

He stared at the ceiling, his eyes still leaking.

Rita laughed and propped herself up on one elbow. She drew a lazy circle on his chest with her index finger. She leaned forward and kissed one of his nipples, flicked it with the tip of her tongue, wrapped her lips around it: The salty taste of his flesh made her eyes roll back in her head. She unconsciously ground herself against his leg; she didn't realize she was doing it until she was cumming again. She grabbed him and held him close as she rode her orgasm out, her face pressed against his, drool dripping from her lips and rolling down his cheek. Still, he simply stared ahead.

"You make mommy feel like a teenager."

Just before dawn colored the eastern sky with its pale light, Rita got up, pulled her nightie back on, and slipped out of Lincoln's room.

The boy lie alone in the darkness, tears streaming down his cheeks, broken and betrayed by the one woman on earth who was supposed to love and protect him...


	8. A Broken Boy

Lori Loud hardly slept Saturday night. She lie awake in bed, clutching her phone in her hand and desperately hoping that Bobby was telling the truth about loving her and wanting the baby. She had no reason to doubt him, but the possibility of him not being there for her when she needed him the most made her sick to her stomach. They were both seventeen, for christsake...what seventeen-year-old boy wanted a baby? Not too goddamn many, that was for sure. But if anyone was an exception to the rule, it was Bobby; he was so kind and caring and sweet and responsible. She was so lucky to have him, and here she was doubting him. That made her cry. She pressed her face into her pillow and wept as silently as she could so she didn't wake Leni.

Suddenly she was angry. Why did this have to happen to them? They _always_ used protection. If those goddamn things don't work, they shouldn't even be on the fucking market! She should sue, make them sorry their defective product _ever_ hit the shelf.

Then she was scared. What would her mother say? She couldn't tell her now, not with her in her mood and Dad...

Cold fear filled her. Would her father be alive to meet his first grandchild? Would he ever be able to hold it and kiss it and bounce it the way he bounced her, and Lincoln, and all their sisters? She hoped he would. She wanted nothing more than for him to be okay, and for her son or daughter to have him in their life. He was such a wonderful father. She never showed her appreciation for him the way she should have, and now she might never get the chance, and that made her cry again. It wasn't fair! Why couldn't it have been someone _else's_ father? Why did it have to be hers? Why out of all the people in this stupid, stinking town did Fate have to pick _him?_

Life's a bitch. A cold, hard, stupid, ugly, frumpy bitch.

Just before dawn, she slipped into a thin and fitful sleep haunted by fleeting wisps of nightmares: Bobby leaving her, Dad dying, everyone disappearing and leaving her alone and everything was dark and tilty and _blood was gushing out from between her legs!_

She woke up every hour, rolled over, and tried to forget the previous bad dream. She finally woke for good at 9:30, her eyes grainy and her head aching. She sat up, and a wave of nausea crashed over her. She started to wretch, and jumped out of bed, slammed into the hall, and then into the bathroom, where she knelt before the toilet just in time: Her eyes burned and her fingers gripped the porcelain rim as she spewed clear liquid into the bowl. She dazedly wished she ate something last night; she had nothing in her stomach, and each heave hurt her chest.

When her stomach was settled, she leaned back on her knees and bowed her head, taking deep, even breaths. Another wave hit her, _oh no,_ and she bent over again, gagging loudly as strands of drool slipped over her bottom lip; the taste of bile filled her mouth, and she wretched even harder.

Again, her stomach calmed. This time she folded her arms on the rim and rested her head on them, her chest rapidly rising and falling. She _hated_ puking.

Someone made a noise behind her, and she lifted her head miserably up. Her mother stood against the doorframe, wearing tan slacks and a dull red blouse. Her face was as hard and emotionless as stone. Her arms were folded across her chest and her lips were a tight slash. "What's wrong, Lori?" she asked. Was it Lori's imagination, or was there a mocking edge to her voice?

Lori shook her head. "Stomach flu, I think."

"Oh?" Mom asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lori's heart beat faster as she nodded. "Yeah."

"Hm. Sickness in the morning could be a _lot_ of things, Lori."

"I guess," Lori replied evenly.

"It could be a stomach bug...or it could be what happens when a slut opens her legs one too many times and gets what she has coming."

Lori's jaw dropped.

Her mother chuckled humorlessly. "I wonder who the father is."

"No one," Lori said, looking away. Her mother's eyes were icy. She was suddenly very scared. "I-I'm not pregnant."

"Of course you're not," Mom said. She came forward and, with a quickness that belied her voluptuous form, snatched a handful of Lori's hair. The girl cried out as her mother dragged her back until her lips were pressed to her ear. "Because if you were," she whispered dangerously, "I'd cut it out and make you eat it."

She let go and stood back. Weeping, Lori struggled to her feet, brushed past her, and disappeared into her room, slamming the door.

Rita laughed all the way down the stairs.

In the dining room, her lovely daughters were gathered at the table, stuffing their stupid little faces with sugary cereal. Lana and Lola were bickering over some trifling thing, Lisa was reading from a science textbook, Leni was humming and bobbing her head from side to side, her eyes closed and a half-smile on her lips, Luan was looking at her...now looking away.

Rita balled her fist. Little Luan was going to wind up being next if she wasn't careful...did she _really_ think Rita didn't know why she always wore skirts? Even in the dead of winter she walked around with her knobby knees showing. It was so Lincoln could have easy access. _Hey, Linc, if you listen to my new routine I'll let you fuck me..._

Rita shivered.

Speaking of Lincoln, he hadn't come down yet, which was just as well; she didn't want him around these little whores. She caught Lucy looking at her, and resolved she would go either after Luan or before. Probably before. Rita was barely awake this morning when Lucy came looking for Lynn. _She's at the park,_ Rita said, _then she's going to school to practice_. She made sure Luna and Luan were both in earshot before she told Lucy how "cruel" it was of her to take Lynn off her sports teams, and that she was allowing Lynn to play again provided she improve her grades. _Her coach said she would come out today specifically to catch Lynn up, then she's meeting with a tutor. She probably won't be back until dinner._

Lucy seemed satisfied...but Rita didn't like the way she was looking at her. It was obvious that Lucy pined after her older sister because she was still too young and stupid to go for Lincoln. But one day...oh, one day...she should head it off at the pass...kill her before she can grow up and start doing things for Lincoln the way Luan and Lynn did. _If you listen to my new poem you can put it in my ass, Lincoln. I'll let you fuck me until I bleed because bleeding is dark and I like dark._

In the sunwashed kitchen, Rita went to make herself a cup of instant coffee. There was a jar of Folgers in the pantry, but try as she might, she couldn't find it, and finally she put her hands on her hips, her chest throbbing with anger. Which one of these little cunts drank all the coffee?

Then she remembered, and demonic laughter welled up from deep in the pit of her stomach. She started brewing a pot of the good stuff as she remembered Lynn's pupils contracting as she died. _Please, mom, don't kill me!_ You should have thought about that before you took Lincoln under the back porch and sucked him off.

Lincoln is _mine_.

She grinned as she remembered making love to her son, her loins tingling at the memory of his hot seed shooting against her walls.

She couldn't wait to do it again.

* * *

It was 9:30 in the morning. Thirty minutes past nine 'o'clock. Thirty minutes until ten 'o'clock. Luna sat on the couch with her legs and arms crossed, her stomach twinging with the first stirrings of concern. 9:30 wasn't all _that_ late, though. Right? Sundays are for sleeping in, and that's all Lincoln was doing. No reason to get all mother hen.

The thing was: Lincoln _never_ slept this late. The latest Luna could ever remember him sleeping was nine; even if he was groggy and headachy, he was up and moving around.

Maybe it wouldn't have bothered Luna on a normal day, but today wasn't a normal day, and neither was yesterday. Their father was fighting for his life in the hospital and everyone was upset...you could tell that by how subdued breakfast was. Lana and Lola bickered half-heartedly, but that was it: No jokes, no sibling banter, no making plans or teasing, just uncomfortable silence. Out of all of them, Lincoln was the most sensitive; it was probably hitting him the hardest. She imagined him crying into his pillow, alone and afraid, and it broke her heart. She started to get up, but stopped herself. She didn't want to bother him, and running up to his room all worried because he wasn't downstairs at an exact time was bothersome.

Still...what if he needed her?

Come to think of it, Lori wasn't up either. That was _really_ strange, because Lori was a _total_ morning person. She was up at 6am every day. Luna didn't get it. Why wake up so early on a Sunday, or even a Saturday? She suspected Lori did it mostly so she would get the first shower of the day, but she didn't know. She liked hot showers too, but she'd deal with lukewarm water if it meant getting sleep. Of course, she was more laidback than Lori. Lori could be _really_ high-strung sometimes.

Where was she?

Luna tapped her fingers on her elbow. She didn't want to be annoying, but she didn't like that neither Lincoln nor Lori were downstairs yet.

She finally sighed and got up. She'd rather be annoying than be absent when one of her siblings needed her. She climbed the stairs and went to Lincoln's room first, since it was closer. She paused, cocked her head, and listened. She didn't hear anything. She knocked and waited a few moments, then knocked again.

Lincoln didn't answer.

"Linc? You up?"

He still didn't respond, and wings of dread fluttered against the inside of her stomach. She took the knob in her hand, hesitated, then turned it and pushed the door open.

Bright morning sunshine spilled through the window, dappling the floor. Lincoln was humped under the covers: All she could see was his little cowlick sticking up. "Linc?"

He didn't move, and her heart bounced. "You okay, Linc?"

When he still didn't stir, she went into the room and crossed to the bed, her heart suddenly pounding a crazy tempo against her ribcage. _He's probably asleep. That's all. He was up all night worrying and he's tired. Makes sense. He's the type to worry all night._

When she reached the side of the bed, she stopped. Lincoln lie on his side, staring at the wall with wide, unblinking eyes. The flesh around them was pink and puffy as though he had been crying. His flesh was the color of dough and his lips quivered. Luna shifted, and a ray of sunlight sparkled on the moisture coating his cheek.

"Linc," she said, barely above a whisper, and reached her hand out. When her fingertips brushed his bare shoulder, he jerked and scooted closer to the wall like a skittish dog. "Hey, Linc," she said softly and sat on the bed. "You alright?"

He didn't move, didn't reply.

She laid her hand on his forehead, and he shook fearfully under her touch: His skin was clammy. He must be sick.

"You feel bad?"

He didn't reply. _That_ concerned her. Why wasn't he talking? And why was he quivering like he thought she was going to hurt him? She loved him. She would _never_ hurt him.

"Hey, Luna..."

Luna looked up. Luan was standing in the doorway, her arms pressing against the frame and her head slightly bowed: Luna was crazily reminded of Jesus Christ.

When she saw the look on Luna's face, her brow fell. "What's wrong?" she asked seriously.

Luna looked down at Lincoln. "I don't know. I think he's sick. He's not talking."

"Not talking?" Luan came to the bed and craned her neck. "Hey, Linc," she said cautiously, "how you feeling?"

He made no sign that he heard her. Luna and Luan looked at each other. Fear was rising in her like bile, but she fought it down. She stroked her brother's head and studied his face for any sort of reaction, but she saw none.

"Go get Mom," Luna said.

Lincoln jerked. "No! Please, don't get Mom, please don't get Mom!" He burst out crying, his teeth clenched and his brows angled down. "Please! P-P-Please!" He moved frantically closer to the wall as if trying to escape.

"Hey, hey," Luna said, reaching out: The fear was rising again, and this time she couldn't fight it back. "What's wrong? Lincoln?"

She looked at Luan with miserable eyes. Her sister looked as lost and stricken as she felt. Lincoln sobbed so hard his tiny body shook. Luna didn't know what to do. She swallowed and ran a hand through her hair. "Go get Lori," she said.

Luan nodded and rushed off. While they waited, Luna scooted fully onto the bed and took Lincoln in her arms, dragging him onto her lap like an overgrown baby. She barely registered the fact that he was naked, and that he held Bun-Bun's severed arm in his hand like a magic talisman. He curled up like a small animal facing a much larger predator, and pity swept through Luna. "Shhhh," she said, rocking him back and forth, tears coming to her own eyes, "it's okay, I'm here. You're safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to you." He cried harder, and Luna cried too. She didn't know what was wrong with him, but it was clear he was in a tremendous amount of pain. Not physical pain, but _spiritual_ pain.

What happened to you, bro?

 _No! Please, don't get Mom, please don't get Mom! Please! P-P-Please!_

Did _she_ do something to him?

Her mind flashed back to the previous afternoon: Her mother kneeling over Lynn's soccer ball and stabbing it with a knife.

No, that was crazy. She couldn't explain the thing with the ball, but there mother would _never_ hurt one of them, bad mood or not.

Lincoln wept, and she held him tighter, rocked him faster. "Shhhhh, it's okay, Linc. I swear, you're okay."

Luan knocked on Lori's door. "What?" Lori called. She sounded like she was crying.

"Something's wrong with Lincoln," Luan replied, her voice breaking; she was not Luna, she could not hide her fear. "W-We need you."

"I'm not coming out there! Take Leni!"

A moment later, the door opened and Leni appeared. There was a troubled expression on her face. Luan looked past her; Lori was sitting on her bed, a pillow clutched tightly to her chest and her face buried in it. She rocked gently back and forth.

Leni pulled the door shut.

"What's wrong with _her_?" Luan asked, her fear intensifying.

"I don't know," Leni said, "when I came upstairs she was crying and she wouldn't tell me why. What's wrong with Lincoln?"

"I-I-I don't know," Luan stammered. "Just...come on."

Luan led Leni to Lincoln's room. When they got there, Luan blinked at the sight of her older sister holding their bother's naked body to her chest and rocking from side-to-side. Lincoln's tears had tapered off, and he was silent. He looked so small and fragile.

"Lincy?" Leni asked, walking over and kneeling next to the bed. "You okay?"

Luna swallowed and said, "I don't know what's wrong with him." The fearful quality of her voice frightened Luan.

"What happened, Lincy?" Leni asked. "Is it about Dad?"

Lincoln didn't acknowledge her presence.

"He got really upset when Luna told me to get Mom," Luan said.

"Don't get Mom," Lincoln moaned. "Please."

"Did Mom hurt you?" Luan asked. The image of her mother stabbing Lynn's ball was clear in her mind. The violence, the hate...

Lincoln didn't reply.

"Mom wouldn't hurt him," Leni said.

"She hurt Lynn's ball," Luan said.

Leni looked over her shoulder, her brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

Luan told her what she and Luna had witnessed the day before. When she was done talking, Leni's eyes were muddled with bafflement. "Like, why would she do that?"

"I don't know," Luan said, "but she _must_ have done something to him."

"That's crazy," Luna said. Her voice was unconvincing even to her own ears. "Mom wouldn't hurt him."

"Linc," Luan said, kneeling next to Leni, "what happened? You have to tell us what happened."

Lincoln didn't reply.

"Please, Lincoln."

He turned his head and buried it in Luna's chest. Luna shot daggers at Luan. "Leave him alone, okay? He'll tell us when he's ready."

"We have to..."

"Drop it," Luna said tightly.

"What about Lori?" Luan asked Leni.

"What _about_ Lori?" Luna asked.

Leni explained, and a shadow crossed Luna's face. Instead of speaking, she clutched Lincoln tighter. "Something strange is going on," Luan said.

"I don't know _what's_ going on," Luna said, and that wasn't a lie, "but you need to chill. Go...play or something. And Leni...go back to Lori. I got this."

"You sure?" Leni asked.

"Yeah."

Luan sighed and got up. "Whatever."

Before Luna could stop her, she stormed out of the room and disappeared.

For a long moment, Leni stood over Luna and Lincoln, worry written across her beautiful face. She reached out, rubbed Lincoln's head, and sighed. "If you need me, come get me, okay?"

"Yeah," Luna said. "Shut the door on your way out, please."

Leni nodded. She looked at her brother one more time, then left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

Alone with Lincoln, Luna took a deep, shuddery breath and looked down at him. His eyes were squeezed closed.

 _Could_ their mother have done something to him? On the surface, the thought was ludicrous. Their mother loved them and would never hurt them. But there was the ball...and her guitar...and the way she doted on Lincoln...didn't she herself think it was "gross"? Almost like a...

She closed that thought out. It was gross because she treated him like a little boy, not because she treated him like a boy _friend._

But...but _didn't_ she? When she was in her moods, she was always touching Lincoln, always looking at him, always kissing his face and head and making him watch TV with her.

No, no, no, that was _innocent_. He was her son, after all. Why shouldn't a mother kiss and touch and look at her son?

She looked down at her brother's upturned face again. "Lincoln?" she asked softly.

His eyelids fluttered.

"Linc?"

One red eye tentatively opened.

"What happened?" she asked pointedly.

He closed his eye again.

"Lincoln, please, we need to know what happened."

"I don't want to."

Luna sighed. Fine. If he didn't want to say, he didn't have to. She didn't mind staying with him.

"You're safe now, okay? I swear to God, Lincoln, I won't let anything happen to you."

As she said this, a face popped into her mind.

And it was the face of her mother.


	9. The Hammer Drops

Rita Loud made two phone calls back-to-back, one to the hospital and one to Francine Davis down the street. Francine had two daughters Lana and Lola's age and a son a year older than Lucy. Their children often played together; Francine would babysit for her, and she would babysit for Francine.

After the disappointing news that Lynn was alive (but thankfully still deep in a coma), Rita dialed Francine's number and asked, in her sugariest voice, if Lilly, Lisa, Lola, Lana, and Lucy could come over for a few hours. "I have a few things I need to take care of," Rita said. She was sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, a knife in her hand. Sunlight glinted off the steely blade.

"Sure!" Francine said happily. "I'd love to have them over!"

"Great," Rita replied. She turned the knife over in her hand, letting it catch and reflect the light. "I really appreciate it. I have a _lot_ of work to do around the house, and with Lynn in the hospital..."

"Lynn's in the hospital?" Francine asked, sounding shocked.

Rita told Francine about the accident. "Oh, my God," Francine said, "I'm so sorry to hear that, Rita."

"Thank you," Rita said. She rested her elbows on the counter, gripped the handle of the knife, and stabbed it into a loaf of bread. "It's been tough."

"Aw, I can imagine. Send them over anytime you like. Your children are a joy to have around."

Rita almost laughed. "Thank you."

She hung up and drummed her fingers on the countertop. With them out of the way, she could take care of those fucking skanks once and for all.

In half an hour, her youngest five were down the street and out of the house. She was alone with Lincoln, Luan, Luna, Leni, and Lori.

Rather, they were alone with _her._

* * *

Before she left, before she even knew she was leaving, Lucy Loud went looking for Luna. She wasn't in her room, but Luan was.

"Where's Luna?" she asked.

"With Lincoln," Luan said. "He...he's sick."

"Alright," Lucy said. At Lincoln's door, she knocked. When Luna called out for her to come in, she did. Her older sister and her brother were in bed, the covers pulled up to their chests. Lincoln was asleep, his lips slightly parted and his chest rising and falling evenly.

"Hey, Luce," Luna said weakly. "What's up?"

Lucy opened her mouth, but closed it again. She wasn't sure how to go about this. She didn't want Luna to think she was being paranoid, because she knew she wasn't, but how would it sound out loud?

Luna looked at her expectantly. Lucy sighed. "I'm worried about Lynn."

"Why?"

Lucy sighed. "She was gone when I got up this morning, and...you know I'm a light sleeper, I always wake up when she's moving around. I didn't. And last night I got up to use the bathroom, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't in bed."

"Text her."

"I did," Lucy said. "I texted her, like, five times and called her twice."

"She's probably busy," Luna said, but her stomach twisted anyway.

"That's not like her, though."

"Well...what do you think happened? Mom said she went to the park and then to school."

"I know what Mom said," Lucy replied, "and...I don't believe it." Lucy looked away from Luna's incredulous eyes. She knew how it sounded to accuse their mother of lying, but it was the God's honest truth: Lucy didn't believe her.

Lucy was an introvert. She kept herself to herself because she liked it that way. That did not mean, however, that she was oblivious to the world around her. Quite the opposite, in fact: She was always watching, always observing, her mind ceaselessly working. She wanted to be a writer one day, and one of her favorite authors, Stephen King, said somewhere that in order to be a good writer, you must watch people, observe the way they talk and behave, their mannerisms, their personal tics...that way when you write a character in a story, you can make them feel real. At least she _thought_ it was Stephen King who said that. Maybe it was someone else. It didn't matter, though, what mattered was that everything in her told her that her mother was lying. Was it the tone of her voice? A subtle glint in her eye? A barely perceptible twitch of her face?

She didn't know. Maybe it was all of those things, maybe it was none. By this point she didn't study each individual detail unless she meant to: Her subconscious took in the forest, not the trees. She would have gone to her mother and subtly asked again, but her mother was in one of those moods, and Lucy was afraid of her when she was. She could be mean, but worse than that was the icy look in her eyes. Just sitting there, her arms crossed and her jaw set, she could be terrifying.

Luna sighed. "It's probably nothing."

"I have a bad feeling either way," Lucy said, "and when I have a bad feeling, I'm usually right."

When Lucy was gone, Luna felt a sudden chill, and crossed her arms over her chest. She glanced at her sleeping brother, and her lips unconsciously pursed. Though she didn't want to admit it, Lucy might be onto something. It _was_ kind of strange for Lynn to be gone and out of the house so early, and Lincoln...the terror on his face when she told Luan to get their mother...

Sighing, she reached into her skirt pocket and brought out her phone. She found Lynn in her contacts, her number denoted by a picture of her smiling face, and tapped it. She put the phone to her ear and let it ring once, twice, eight times, twelve, each moment she didn't answer heightening Luna's anxiety. She finally hung up and sent her a text: _Plz call me asap. It's an emergency._

Putting the phone in her lap, she recrossed her arms. If Lynn wasn't at the park or practice or with a tutor or where the hell ever, where _was_ she? Tied to a chair in the attic? In a dog kennel under the back porch? Luna forced a laugh, but inside, she was starting to worry. She picked up her phone and looked at it. No texts, no calls.

Yesterday afternoon, Mom stabbed Lynn's ball to death in the backyard. Luna didn't see her face, but the vibe she got was _rage_. Mom took her _rage_ out on it, just as she had Luna's guitar. What if she then took her rage out on _Lynn?_

That was absurd!

Right?

Luna didn't know anymore. Dark dread gathered in her stomach and vague, indefinable fear clutched her chest, squeezing her heart and lungs in a cold, steely grip. She picked up her phone. Lynn hadn't responded. She called up her contacts list, tapped Lynn's picture, and put the phone to her ear again. This time she let it ring and ring and ring and ring and ring. Finally, she sighed and hung up.

She was starting to freak out, and nothing she told herself could stop it.

Picking up her phone one more time, she shot a text to Luan. _Plz come to Lincoln's room._

While she waited, she mentally ran through what they knew: Something happened to Lincoln. He flipped when Luna mentioned getting Mom. Lynn was missing. Mom said she went to the park and then to school. Lori was upset...which wasn't _that_ rare, it could be unconnected. Lucy thought Mom was lying about Lynn, and Lucy _was_ a pretty good judge of character...

When Luan appeared in the doorway, her eyes questioning, Luna slipped out from under the covers. "Stay with Lincoln. I need to do something."

"Uh, okay."

Luna went to her sister and put her hands on her shoulders. "Do me another solid, okay? After I go out there, lock the door behind me."

Luan's brows furrowed. "What?"

"Just do it."

"You think Mom...?"

"I don't know what I think," Luna said, "just lock the door behind, okay?"

Without another word, she went into the hall and turned. Dark fear pooled in Luan's eyes. She pushed the door shut, and then locked it.

At Lori and Leni's door, she knocked. "Yeah?" Leni called out.

"It's-It's Luna. Can I come in?"

"Yeah!"

Luna opened the door and slipped in, shutting it behind her. Lori was lying on her side, facing the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her scrawny chest. Leni sat next to her, her hand absently rubbing Lori's arm.

"What happened, Lori?" Luna asked.

Lori didn't reply.

"Lori...what happened?" she asked, her voice harder.

"I don't want to talk about it," Lori finally croaked.

Luna sighed. "Lori, I need to know what happened. Lincoln..." she trailed off. "Something's wrong with Lincoln, and I think it might have to do with Mom."

Lori's head whipped around, and in that moment, Luna knew.

"What?" she asked, her heart speeding up. "What is it?"

Lori sighed deeply and sat up. She swallowed, her throat working furiously. Leni gave her a worried look, and Lori took her hand, threading her fingers through her sister's. "I'm pregnant," Lori said.

Leni's eyes widened, and Luna gaped.

Lori drew another sigh, and when she began to talk, it all came out, her words running together, "I have morning sickness and Mom saw me puking in the bathroom this morning. She was being all, like, mocking and stuff, then when I told her I wasn't pregnant, she pulled my hair and said if I was she'd cut my baby out and make me eat it." Lori broke down, and Leni took her in her arms, a look of horror crossing her face.

Luna felt like she had been slapped. Her mind went blank and all she could do was lift a hand to her head. "S-She...she said that?"

"Yes!" Lori sobbed.

Leni looked at Luna, fear in her eyes.

"What's wrong with Lincoln?" Lori asked through her tears.

"I don't know," Luna said. She thought of the way he stared brokenly at the wall...the way he was naked when she found him, the "gross" way their mother acted with him. Her stomach clenched and she felt like she was going to be sick. "Mom did _something_ to him, though."

"She's crazy," Lori said, sniffing. "If you saw the look in her eyes...she's nuts!"

"What about Lynn?" Leni asked. "Where's Lynn?" her voice rose.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Luna said, steeling her resolve. "Lock the door behind me and don't let Mom in."

In the hall, Luna pulled out her cellphone and dialed Lynn's number. She held the phone to her ear and went methodically through the attic and the second floor, looking under beds, in drawers, and between mattresses. She even sucked it up and searched her parents' room, even though she was terrified her mother would find her.

Downstairs, she started in the living room and worked her way into the kitchen, searching for something, anything. She called Lynn again and again, hoping to hear the ring if it was near. She went into the backyard and looked under the porch, in the shed, even in the trashcans. Next she checked the garage. Nothing.

She went into the basement last. Standing at the top of the stairs, her heart racing, she snapped on the light, and below, shadows raced to the corners. She descended, the steps creaking beneath her tread. At the bottom, she dialed Lynn's number and put the phone to her ear. She checked under the stairs, against the far wall, in the broom closet, behind boxes, under a workbench. Nothing.

As she approached the boiler, she heard something, a very faint, very muffled... _ring_.

Her heart bounced. She ended the call to Lynn, and the ring stopped. She made another.

Yes, there it was! Lynn's phone was here somewhere.

She took the phone away from her ear and looked around.

It was coming from the boiler.

Her heart slammed as she stared at the iron beast, her arms at her side and her legs splayed. She shoved her phone into the pocket of her skirt and crossed the distance, stopping at the hatch. Why was Lynn's phone in there? What did Mom do to her?

Luna took a quivering breath and reached out a trembling hand. She gripped the latch, her fingers weak, and turned it, pulling the door open.

When she saw Lynn's pale, bloodless face and her wide, staring eyes, Luna screamed and stumbled back.

"You couldn't leave him alone, could you?" someone said, and Luna spun to see her mother, a sledgehammer in her hands. Luna's heart rocketed into her throat. "You couldn't leave my Lincoln alone." She took a step forward, and Luna fell back, bumping against the boiler. Her mind screamed wordlessly, and her muscles quaked.

Mom's lips pulled back from her teeth. "I can see why. He's so sweet and handsome and _so, so_ good in bed. But he's mine."

"Mom?" Luna wheezed.

" _He's mine!"_

She brought the hammer up, and Luna could not move. Tears filled her eyes. "Mom..."

The hammer smashed into her face, and she felt her skull shatter. The pain was, mercifully, a brief flash...then a thousand bone fragments, like shrapnel, tore into her brain and she knew no more.


	10. You Belong to Me

Lincoln muttered in his sleep and rolled over, bringing Luan out of her reprieve. Though she got a full eight hours' sleep the night before, she was starting to doze, even despite the worry festering in her stomach. She sighed, rubbed her eyes, and rolled her neck. She looked at her phone. It was 11:30. Luna had only been gone fifteen minutes, though it felt more like fifteen hours.

 _Where are you, Luna?_ Luan asked, wrapping her arms around her chest. _And what are you doing?_

She wished Luna told her. As it stood, she was alone with Lincoln behind a flimsy door with a cheap interior lock and _something_ dangerous was out there, it had to be, otherwise Luna wouldn't have told her to lock it.

It was their mother, wasn't it?

Luna might be (have been?) in denial, but Luan was not. Sure, it was a bitter pill to swallow that _maybe_ your mother did something horrible to your brother, but Lincoln didn't wig out over nothing. There was a reason. And _what_ was that reason? Well...he didn't freak when Luna told her to go get Lori, he didn't freak when Leni came in, he didn't freak at her or Luna. He freaked at three simple words: _Go get Mom._

He freaked out at the idea of _Mom._

Which meant she _must_ have done something to him. That kind of surprised her but at the same time it kind of didn't. Luan (and the others) were often subject to their mother's wrath during her little "moods." She never actually _hurt_ them, but if you looked into her eyes or at her sneering lips, it wasn't a stretch to imagine her throwing a slap or grabbing a handful of hair. But she was different with Lincoln. She treated him like mommy's pet or something. It was actually kind of weird. Almost like...

...Luan shook her head. She looked at her phone again. Nothing. She sat it back down and looked at Lincoln again. Tears ran down his cheeks, and her heart cracked in two. She put her hand on his forehead. Poor Linc. She felt so horrible for him.

"What did she do to you?" she asked herself.

Did she...touch him? Luan shivered. God, what if she did? What if she...did something to him, something...sexual? He _was_ naked when she and Luna found him. She doubted he slept that way: Every time she saw him in the morning, he was wearing underwear, and sometimes she came into his room before he was even out of bed; after all, for some reason it always fell to her to wake him up if need be. Why was he naked?

Goosebumps raced up and down Luan's arms. She picked up her phone, opened her contacts list, and found Luna's number. She pressed the icon and held it to her ear. It rang and rang. Luan knew for a fact that Luna _never_ put her phone on silent; one time she did and lost it, and couldn't find it for three days. If she had it on her, she heard it.

Luan hung up and texted her. _Where are you? I'm still with Linc but I'm getting scared. What are you doing?_

She set the phone down in her lap.

"No," Lincoln muttered in his sleep, and Luan looked at him. "No...Mom..."

Luan's heart stopped.

In the basement, Rita Loud picked up her daughter's phone and read the text. The only four words that she recognized where _I'm still with Linc_ , and rage swept through her. The sender was little Miss Hike-My-Skirt-Up, _and she was fucking Lincoln right now!_

Rita flung the phone against the wall, where it shattered, and picked up the sledgehammer: Blood dripped from the metal head, along with flecks of bone and pieces of pink brain matter. No more games...she was going to kill all of them, even if it was the last thing she ever did...

* * *

 _Of all the things to forget,_ Lucy thought as she sat on the end of the couch in Francine Davis's basement den. She crossed her arms and sighed. Next to her, Tommy Davis, Francine's son, played a handheld game, his lips muttering soundlessly and his eyes scanning the screen. Lucy had always liked Tommy...he was cute for a mortal. He was more interested in video games than girls, though, so she pined from afar. Typical.

How could she forget her notebook? That would be like someone else forgetting to put on pants or a shirt. Without it, she was naked...and bored. Lola, Lana, and Tommy's sisters were sitting in a row on the floor, mesmerized by the TV, where Elsa the Ice Queen spun in a winter wonderland and sang about letting it go. Lisa was off in a corner with her portable chemistry set, mixing strange and potentially dangerous liquids together in what Lucy could only imagine was an attempt to blow the Davis house off the face of the earth.

She drummed her fingers on her elbow and tried to lose herself in her imagination, but couldn't: She was stuck on not having her notebook.

Could she run home and grab it? Her house was only a couple down. There was a chance someone would be there, so the door would be unlocked.

No harm in checking, right? At least it would kill some time.

She got off the couch and went to the sliding glass door. No one noticed her as she slipped outside and shut the door behind her. She went around the side of the house (ducking below the windows so Francine wouldn't see her), and hurried down the sidewalk, throwing nervous glances over her shoulder. She was proud of her stealth level; she was as good as that guy from _Assassin's Creed_. Heck, she was stealthy without even trying to be: Twenty times a day she scared her siblings into the stratosphere just by walking up to them. She honestly didn't do it on purpose, she was just quiet.

When she reached her house, she paused for a moment and studied it. The windows were dark and an air of darkness hung over it that was so thick it was almost choking. She thought of Lynn and her mother. Mom was lying about Lynn. She was certain of it. She wondered if they had an argument and Lynn ran away, and Mom was lying because she didn't want Lynn back. Or maybe Mom _made_ her leave.

A tiny voice in the back of her head told her to turn around and go back to Francine's house. She could occupy her time with trying to get Tommy Davis to notice her.

If something was wrong, though, she had to know; her brother and sisters might need her.

Mind made up, she hurried down the walkway to the porch and climbed the stairs, her heart inexplicably pounding. She opened the door and went in, closing it behind her. Tomb-like silence hung over the house like a funeral shroud. Lucy stood in the foyer for a moment, looking around. Was anyone even here?

She went to the bottom step and laid her hand on the railing. She cocked her head and listened.

Nothing.

She started to ascend, but something dropped onto the floor in the kitchen, and she jumped. She backed up and craned her neck around the bannister. The living room and kitchen both stood empty.

Or so it seemed.

She stepped off of the tread and started through the living room. "H-Hello?" she called, surprised to find her voice weak and trembling.

No one replied. The kitchen was desolated, bathed in warm sunlight. She reached the threshold, and suddenly something was arching down. It hit her in the stomach, and agony exploded within her. She flew back in a sideways V and hit the floor, grayness stealing over her vision. The thick, coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.

Her mother's face appeared over her, her eyes wide and staring and her hair stuck out at crazy angles. _"You bitch..."_ Mom spat, and wrapped her hands around Lucy's throat. Adrenaline shot through Lucy as she realized what was happening, and her heart started pounding. She tried to move her legs, but they were numb.

Panicking, she grabbed her mother's hands and dug her nails into her flesh. Mom's grip only tightened. _"He's mine..."_ she growled, spittle spraying Lucy's face.

 _I'm going to die,_ she realized then, tears springing to her eyes. She'd talked her entire life about the sweet release of death, but in that horrible moment she didn't want to die; she wanted to live, to fall in love, to marry, and to have children. She wanted to feel the warm light of the sun against her skin, to taste the rain on her tongue, to eat ice cream with her brother and sisters and to show them the love that she felt but didn't often display.

She wanted a lot of things, but death was spreading blackly over her, and she could feel herself sinking, the wild, desperate pounding of her lungs and heart fading, fading.

A spasm ran through her body, and her bladder released.

She knew now what happened to Lynn...and was she hallucinating, or was that her big sister in the gathering haze...her smile wide and her eyes warm?

Lucy reached out to her, and the last sensation she ever felt was Lynn's hand in her own.

* * *

Upstairs, Luan covered her quivering lips as Lincoln trembled beneath the blankets. "Please, Mom, don't..." he whispered, and started to cry. "Please don't..."

A vise of horror squeezed Luan's lungs. She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest ached. Their mother _did_ do something to him. She hurt him. Hot tears filled Luan's eyes. His face was pale, drawn, his eyes closed tight. He looked so small and pitiful. How _could_ she? How fucking _could_ she? Luan reached out and touched her brother's arm, and he let out a strangled cry. He tried to scoot away from her.

"It's okay, Linc," Luan said quickly, her voice thick with tears, "it's just me, Linc, Luan, your sister. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise, I would _never_ hurt you."

She had to tell someone. Lori. Or Leni. Lori. _Pull it together, Lori, we need you_. She picked up her phone, but dropped it when the doorknob rattled.

"Lincoln?"

Luan's heart stopped.

It was Mom.

"Lincoln...unlock this door right now!"

Next to her, Lincoln stiffened and his eyes flew open.

The knob rattled again, harder this time. "Goddamn it, Lincoln, let me in!"

When something (a fist?) pounded against the door, Luan let out a tiny squeak.

"You _are_ in there, you little whore!" Mom screamed. Next to Luan, Lincoln sat bolt upright, his face a mask of terror. He scooted up until his back was against the headboard, and Luan shot her hand out, grazing his chest. "I-It's okay, Linc," she stammered, "I won't let her hurt you."

Mom slammed the door again. It shuddered in its frame. _"Right goddamn now, let me the fuck in, you fucking cheap shank!"_

"Go away!" Luan cried. She hoped to sound tough, instead it came out as a sob.

" _You can't have my Lincoln! He's mine! Mine! Mine!"_

For a second, nothing happened, then something crashed into the door, and it cracked. Lincoln screamed in terror and pulled his knees to his chest. She had to do something. She looked around for a weapon, something, anything she could defend herself with. The only thing even close was the alarm clock on the nightstand, which she snatched up just as another crash came. Something came through the wood, and splinters showered the carpet. Lincoln was shaking like a leaf, his head buried in his arms.

Mom wrenched the hammer back, and shoved her face into the opening. When Luan saw her narrowed eyes and ugly sneer, her blood ran cold and she froze where she was. Mom's eyes scanned the room, then fell on her; Luan could swear she actually _felt_ them: Cold, hard, sharp. _"You..."_ Mom snarled.

Leni's voice drifted down the hall. "What's going on?"

Mom turned. _"Get back in your room, you little bitch!"_

Leni uttered a high-pitched scream, then the sound of a slamming door filled the house. Freed from her mother's mad gaze, Luan came alive, pushing herself off the bed. Mom's face appeared in the gap again, and when it did, Luan surprised herself by winding up and throwing the clock. It soared through the air and connected with Mom's face, driving her back with a shriek of rage.

Luan looked jerkily around. They were trapped. There was no way...

The window! It was right above the nightstand. She could get Lincoln out and...

Behind her, the door exploded open, and Luan spun with a scream. Her mother stood there, huffing, her eyes wide with insanity and her teeth bared. Blood trickled from her nose. The hammer was gone. In her hand she held a knife. Lincoln howled and Luan stumbled back against the nightstand.

"You little _cunt_ ," her mother said, coming forward like a lioness moving in for the kill. "He's mine!"

Luan had never been more terrified in her life: It was as though she had turned to jelly...cold, cold jelly. Her mother grabbed her by her ponytail and yanked. Luan screeched and failed her arms.

"Stop!" Lincoln sobbed. "Please stop!"

Mom's eyes flashed and an evil smile crossed her face. "He's mine, Luan..." she raised the knife, and Luan started to cry.

"Let her go!"

Through blurred eyes, Luan saw Lori, a baseball bat in her hands. Her brows were angled down. Leni was behind her, looking afraid. Mom shoved Luan away and turned; Luan fell to the floor in a heap and wept.

"What do you think you're doing, Lori?" Mom asked dangerously. She started forward.

"Stay away!" Lori said. "I'll hit you!"

Mom giggled evilly. "You wouldn't hit me...I'm your mother." She took another step forward, and Lori fell back, bumping into Leni. Mom gripped the knife and held it at her waist, the blade pointing at Lori. "You know all about being a mother, don't you? Pregnant with my son's child!"

Lori blinked. What? She gripped the bat tighter. Her knees were shaking and her bowels were loose. She wasn't a weak girl, but in that moment she felt _very_ weak...very shaky.

"You all thought you could have him, but he's mine! _He's mine!"_ Mom leapt forward, and, with a cry, Lori brought the bat around: It smashed into the side of Mom's head with a sickening _crack_ , and she toppled over, crashing into the wall and hitting the floor with a thud.

On his bed, Lincoln rocked back and forth, tears streaming from his eyes. Luan wept into the carpet, her body prostrate. Leni started to cry too. Lori dropped the bat. Her mind was fuzzy and she was numb. Sit down. She needed to sit down.

From the floor, Mom moaned and rolled onto her back. The side of her head was caved in, and blood soaked into the carpet. Her chest rose and fell spasmodically. She flopped her head to one side, and fixed Lincoln with her dying gaze. _"My...Lincoln..."_ she muttered. _"you belong...to me."_

One look in his shattered, empty eyes, and his sisters knew it was true. He _did_ belong to her.

And he always would.

* * *

Ten miles away, at Royal Woods General Hospital, Lynn Loud Sr. came awake.

And started to drool.

* * *

 **There were many times when writing this story that I sat back, read over what I had, and said, "Jesus, Flagg, you're a monster." There were a couple times I teared up, and I'm a steely son of a bitch...Lucy's scene in this chapter especially made me sad.**

 **Anyway, my next story will be happier, I promise. It's called "We Love Our Brother" and the first chapter will be up sometime this afternoon. Hope to see you there.**


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